


Blood Calls to Blood

by KaterinaRiley



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, F/M, Human Derek, Temporary Character Death, Vampire Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 36,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaterinaRiley/pseuds/KaterinaRiley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stop! Stop!” All heads turned toward him. He took a deep breath. “Just let them go, Caedmon. You’re issue is with me, a Hale, a werewolf. Not with them. Not Stiles. Please, please just let them go.” Derek was well-aware that he was begging, but he really couldn’t give a shit. Begging for his friends’ lives wasn’t embarrassing or humiliating. It was the scariest experience Derek’s ever had. </p><p>Amelia laughed. “And waste this opportunity? We don’t think so.”</p><p>“And you’re not a werewolf, Derek,” Caedmon said. “Not anymore.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **AU in which Derek’s powers never returned and Stiles’ relationship with Malia hasn’t become bg/gf yet.**  
> NOT BRIT-PICKED  
> Fun Fact: When I showed Linden Ashby’s picture to my mom, she said he looked like an Ivan (I changed it to Ian though, shhh); so, I went with that instead of the stereotypical ‘John’.  
> Hey, ever notice that Stiles doesn’t seem to have any grandparents? I did too.
> 
> On FanFiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10938619/1/Blood-Calls-to-Blood

Claudia and Ian met in college. They went from friends to lovers to soulmates in the most fairytale-esque, boy-meets-girl sort of way, marrying two months after their graduation. They loved each other dearly –anyone with a brain could see that– and their love was what truly mattered. Despite adversities and challenges and family drama, they knew that they loved each other. No matter what would happen, to them specifically or simply in general, they knew they would prevail with victory because they always, always had their love.

But there’s always, always a breaking point.

Everyone thought Claudia and Ivan were the perfect the couple – the “Disney Couple,” as so many of their friends called them. They were always laughing and gazing into each other’s eyes or talking animatedly about an upcoming book or movie. Rarely would they fight; partly because they knew each other so well that they knew when the other needed space and partly because neither one could stand to see the other hurt, especially if it was by their hand. (Eight days, two hours, and six minutes was their longest fight; neither could remember what it was about, most likely something to do with Claudia’s family, but when Ian was in a terrible car accident, they promised each other to resolve the issue before nightfall.)

The couple did everything together, eat, sleep, read, shower, and even if they weren’t with each other, there were no jealous bouts of anger or immense feelings of depression at being separated. Claudia was independent, she knew that she _could_ live without Ian, she just didn’t _want_ to. Ian was exactly the same way. Both chose to spend their time with the other; what else is marriage about if not enjoying the world with the one you love by your side?

No matter who they met, be it friend or stranger, Ian and Claudia’s relationship was always coveted.

“You’re just so perfect!” people would tell them, envy and awe in their eyes. “Nothing ever goes wrong with you guys! God, I wish I could have that.”

So only in the dead of night, when no one could hear or see them, would Claudia break the perfection with a quiet, soft confession. It was her secret to Ian. Her fatal flaw to her eternal love. Her heavy burden to the light of her world. They discovered it right after the honeymoon.

After her admission, Ian would hold her tight; every night he would curl around her and whisper declarations of love and promise in her ear. She would tremble in his arms, unable to hold back her sorrow.

One night, on their fifth wedding anniversary, Claudia, once again, whispered her secret. Her crippling, devastating secret.

“I can’t have children.”

A voice pierced the dark silence, cold and amusing. “I can help with that.”

The air was still for half a second –shock and tension beginning to perforate the air– before Ian found himself jumping out of the bed and reaching for his police-insured pistol, his muscles moving before he could even command them to. He turned the light on as quick as he could. (In the back of his head, Ian realized his reflexes reacted much quicker than they did a year ago; it could only be because of his academy training. Ian had never been more grateful that he wanted to be a police officer.)

“Who’s there?” Ian cried out. He pointed the gun, which was held firmly in his hands, at the corner of the room where most of the shadows were located.

“Family,” the figure answered. His face and upper chest were shrouded by an impenetrable darkness, yet his hands were raised in a placating gesture.

Slowly, Claudia got out of bed and moved to stand by her husband. She took hold of his arm nervously, holding onto it as if she’d float away should she let go.

“We have no family,” she said boldly.

“I _am_ family,” the figure repeated. He sounded as if the situation was dripping fifty shades of grey rather than a definite shade of black or white. Neither Claudia nor Ian liked this implication.

Ian had thought it impossible, since she was already gripping him tight enough to bruise, but Claudia’s grip constricted even more on her husband’s arm. Her fingers twitched against his skin; Ivan knew she was remembering the past.

With a taut voice, Claudia declared, “I am disowned. My family refuses to acknowledge me since my marriage with Ian.”

“And my family is dead,” Ian answered stiffly, trying to bury the memories of funerals and police men before they could resurface. “So I’ll only ask this one more time; who are you?”

Ignoring the question, the figure tilted his head and asked his own. “You _are_ a Stilinksi, are you not?”

“…Yes,” Ian said slowly. He wondered if he could avoid killing this man – at least, not in front of his wife.

“Honey,” Claudia whispered softly. It was a question. A warning.

The figured tutted. “You haven’t been doing your duties, Stilinski. You haven’t even told your wife about your heritage. Your _legacy_! Secretes, secrets, Stilinks. What kind of marriage is half hidden in shadows?”

“What is he talking about?” Claudia asked her husband. She hoped her tone would keep him beside her, but he moved closer to man anyway. “ _Who are you_?” she demanded, turning to the figure.

In what could only be amusement, the figure said, “I’m afraid that’s not the right question, madam Stilinski.”  


Something clicked in Ian’s mind, something that he hasn’t thought of in a long, long time, and Ian was terrified. Afraid to know the answer, but knowing he must ask, Ian took another step closer. With a deep breath, he asked, “ _What_ are you?”

The figure chuckled. “Yes. _Now_ you’re asking the right questions.” Then he smiled, his teeth actually glittering in the darkness. That’s when Ian realized so were his eyes. Blood-red eyes. “ _What_ am I…?”

Ian remained silent.

“Well, go on, Stilinski. What am I?”

“You’re… you’re a…” he licked his lips and swallowed.

With his silky voice, the figure urged, “Go on. _Say it_.”

Clearing his throat, Ian tried multiple times to form the words. Nothing left his lips except strangled, throaty noises. Chokingly, he finally admitted, “Vampire.”

It sounded cheesy. A corny punch line to a half-ass joke. A line in a prepubescent romance novel. Except when Ian looked up, he was met with the most terrifying smile. A smile full of sharp, white teeth. It lit up the room, like when the sun shines through an ice cavern.

“Precisely,” he – it – the vampire – said. “Now put that gun down.”

Ian knew of what his family did – what they _said_ they did. _“Hunting down them damned servants of hell. You know them as vampires. Son, what we do is kill them before they kill us or anyone else who gets in their way,”_ his father would tell him and his sister. Ian knew that the knowledge was passed down from generation to generation. Thanks to his father, he knew how to kill, trap, and trick the (not so) mythical creatures; he knew their fighting styles, their customs, and their (not so) mythical culture. In short, Ian knew far too much about vampires.

But even when his family was murdered, was _massacred_ , he never really believed a word his parents had said. Neither had his younger sister. They’d always roll their eyes, giggling and joking about whatever material their father had made them read.

Even when he went in to identify his sister’s body, the only one who wasn’t shred into unidentifiable pieces, Ian still didn’t believe. He’s not entirely sure he believes even now.

And yet…Ian lowered his pistol.

“Honey,” Claudia hissed. “ _What are you doing_?”

When Ian didn’t answer, she turned to the figure pleading, “Vampires aren’t real. You need help, sir. Please get help, but know that if you don’t get out _right now_ , I’m calling the cops.” Her phone was in her hand the 9 and 1 were already dialed.

The vampire sneered. “I’m offering my services to you, ungrateful wench.”

“Don’t call my wife–!”

“Do you want a child or not?” The vampire hissed, suddenly looming above Ian.

Claudia dropped the phone. “W-What?” she stammered, her wide eyes and glued onto the figure.

Sighing, the vampire took a step back. He shook his head in disappointment. Ian was positive that he even rolled his eyes. “I am of your linage, Stilinski. Do you know me?”

The figure didn’t look familiar in the slightest. In fact, he looked barely twenty-one. Yet, Ian knew exactly who the creature was. There was only one vampire his family would talk about constantly. _Warn_ him about incessantly. Whatever information his family gathered about this particular vampire was pounded into his brain. _“I am family,”_ was what the figure had said.

“Yes.” Ian’s throat was so dry, he felt as though the desert had emerged inside him. When the vampire nodded, indicating he should continue, Ian found himself repeating the words his father told him. They came out raspy and scratchy, as if there really was a desert in his throat. “You’re… You’re the first vampire ever known to exist. My lineage starts with you. You’re called the Demon, and you’ve murdered thousands of–”

“Yes, yes, so you’ve heard of me.” He waved a dismissive hand, “I was just checking.” His tone became solemn. “It’s a shame what happened to your family, Stilinski. Had I known they were being targeted, I would’ve saved them.” He sounded sincere. Of all things, the vampire actually sounded _sincere_.

Baffled, Ian asked, “Why?”

The vampire chuckled. “Because they were my family too. _You_ are my family. My son, my blood… And I protect what is mine.”

“So then what are you doing now? Protecting me?” Ian asked, stepping backwards and reaching for his wife’s hand.

“In a way,” the vampire said, both cryptically and casually. “You see, I find myself in a predicament. I’ll help you, if you help me.”

“…What do you want us to do?” Claudia asked. Her voice neither tremble nor wavered. Claudia’s bravery reminded Ian of all the things he loved about her.

“I want you to hide me; protect me so that I may protect you. The coven who killed your family is after me,” the vampire told Ian. “I have no wish to fight them now, it’s far too tedious. However, they won’t give up. Their Master is one of the oldest vampires alive.” He paused then winked, flashing them a toothy grin, “Though not older than I, of course. Soon he will find you, and as I mentioned, I protect my blood. When the time comes, I’ll be ready for him.”

“…Why not fight him now?” Claudia questioned hesitantly. It was a valid question.

The vampire shrugged. “As I said, it’s too tedious. There’s no fun in a quick fight, and I like the thrill of the chase.” Claudia and Ian glanced at each other; clearly this was someone they didn’t want to anger. “Besides, this way, we both get what we want.”

Ian took a step forward. “And how will _we_ get what we want? What will you do for us?”

“I can give you a child.” The vampire raised his hands, blue and gold lights danced in his hands. His face light up, and Ian was sure he would never see anything as frightening and beguiling again. “I was a Druid, before becoming a monster, and I still retain my powers,” he explained. “So what do you say? Deal?”

Once again, Ian and Claudia glanced at each other.

x~X~x

“What shall we name him?” Claudia whispered, staring reverently at the child in her arms.

Ian carefully placed his big hand on the baby’s small head; the hair was soft. When the child opened his eyes, they were a beautiful golden brown. He cooed at his father.

“We were never told a name,” Ian whispered. “So we’ll call him Szczęsny.”

Claudia smiled softly. “After your father?”

“After my father,” Ian nodded. “He always said it was a ‘good luck’ name. Hopefully he’s right.”

“Szczęsny,” Claudia murmured. “It’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“I’ve already thought of that.” Ian said, laughing quietly. “Stiles.”

Claudia reached for her son. “It’s perfect,” she said, watching in delight as the boy began searching for her breast milk. “Stiles.”

x~X~x

The Stilinski’s found closure in Beacon Hills. It had no connection to either of them, and certainly no vampires.

Over the years, as Stiles grew, the Stilinski parents forgot their promise. They forgot about the vampire and they forgot about the deal. (At first, they accomplished that feat by studiously ignoring the giant undead elephant in the room until, over time, they became experts at ignoring the un-ignorable, and, eventually, they forgot the unforgettable.) All they knew was that they had a miracle child in little Stiles Stilinski. He was always so curious, asking questions and trying to accomplish everything his seven-year-old brain could imagine, even if it nearly gave his mother a heart attack – like when he tried, and succeeded in, jumping off the roof and into the pool. (Claudia filled it in after witnessing Stiles coax Scott McCall to jump off the roof too.)

The McCall’s had been a godsend to the Stilinski’s. Nearly the second after moving into the new house, Claudia met Melissa McCall, who was bringing a Welcome to the Neighborhood Pie; her belly, too, was rounded with child. As if it were meant to be, Claudia and Melissa became instant friends. The two could be found eating ice cream together, buying baby clothes, and thinking up names for their unborn sons. When Scott and Stiles were finally born, barely a few days apart, the sons became just as inseparable as their mothers.

Everything was perfect. For almost nine years, everything was perfect.

But perfection is just a lie. Ian should’ve remembered that from the last time people thought ‘perfect’ was synonymous to ‘Stilinksi’.

Claudia fell sick, but it wasn’t any normal sickness. It wasn’t the flue or pneumonia or even chicken pox.

It was frontal dementia.

The Stilinski’s lives turned inside out and upside down and completely backwards in a matter of a few short months. All of Beacon Hill mourned for the loss of the wonderful Claudia Stilinski, but no one mourned more than the two she left behind – except, possibly, Melissa McCall, who was now a single parent without her best friend to help her carry on.

Ian, who had been promoted to Deputy a few months subsequent to his wife’s death, was sure nothing would ever be as devastating. He was sure of it. Nothing is worse than losing someone you love to something you can’t fight or shoot with a gun.

Then the wolves returned to Beacon Hills, creating an unstoppable chain of events would take place, proving Ian wrong.

0~X~0

Derek hung limply, refusing to let the tears fall from his eyes. He’d been an idiot – the biggest fucking idiot to ever set foot on the whole fucking earth.

Trying to go after the vampire coven himself… Seriously, who does that without some sort of backup plan? Someone should just hand Derek a trophy with the words ‘ _Biggest Dumbass_ ’ on the plaque.What had he been thinking?

Oh, that’s right. _He_ _hadn’t been thinking_!

All alone, no backup… Derek could’ve been dead, lying in some alleyway, right now – all because he wanted to prove his worth and find the murderers. The Alley Cat Killers, as the media had dubbed them. He had been so close! Of course, going into the woods, by himself, in order to locate their shelter was only an inch above being completely suicidal.

If it weren’t for Lydia and Stiles, Derek’s sure he’d be dead, but if it weren’t for _him_ , none of them would even be in this mess right now. Braeden would surely laugh at his naïve stupidity – after she saved, and then promptly beat, his ass, that is. Derek could only thank whoever-it-was-above that it wasn’t the entire coven that captured him.

It was only the Vampire Master and his right hand leeches.

“I’m sorry, guys,” he said lamely, cringing at how pathetic he sounded, even to his own ears.

“It’s not your fault, Derek,” Lydia assured. She was at Derek’s right, her hands chained above her and her feet grazing the floor; just like Derek and Stiles. “Anyone could have fallen in that trap. It just so happened to be you.”

“Yeah, but I could’ve sensed the trap if I still had my–” he broke off, cheeks heating with shame. He couldn’t even say it.

“Well, he does have a point.” Stiles said, from across the room, in the most Stiles-matter-of-fact tone.

Lydia glared at the boy across from her. “Stiles!” she hissed.

However, Stiles was unable to say anything in return –not that it would’ve been an apology; _Not that I deserve one_ , Derek thought – because that was when the vampires decided to return to the stone room they left the three humans chained up in.

The lone female was easily recognizable. Amelia. Not only did the back of her black Leatherman jacket have her name stitched across it in red, but she was the one they’d caught with Kira’s own trap a few days ago. She had escaped, clearly, but not before giving them some valuable information.

Derek had seen the three of them together only briefly – when they came to retrieve him and, since they hadn’t left in time, Stiles and Lydia. The two right-hand leeches had incapacitated the pair on the surface, coming up behind them and biting their necks, sucking blood until the two had fainted. The head vampire –C-something– had then jumped down into the dug-out, where he said something (though Derek couldn’t remember what it had been; couldn’t have been important), and reset Derek’s ankle, which was fully healed now, probably because of magic vampire spit or some other bullshit, before biting his neck.

It had been humiliating how weak Derek felt. How weak Derek _was_. Unable to hold fight off the vampires, unable to heal himself…unable to save Lydia and Stiles. To make matters worse, the Bite had been completely _mind-blowing_. Saying Derek was embarrassed would be an understatement. He knew that people claimed a vampire’s bite felt almost orgasmic, but this was ridiculous! Derek _never_ babbled that much during actual sex. The only comfort Derek had was that it seemed Lydia and Stiles, from the way they had moaned and squirmed and nearly started palming themselves, felt the same way about the bite…but that wasn’t a comfort Derek wanted to have at all.

“Lookie at what we caught!” the male leech gloated, patting Amelia’s shoulder with the back of his hand. He swaggered into the room as if he owned it, but Derek knew this vampire wasn’t the Master. “A werewolf!”

“Don’t forget about the banshee, Nick,” Amelia said. “ _And_ we got a human too! Isn’t he’s just adorable?” Taking a step forward, she appeared suddenly in front of Stiles, twirling her fingers through his hair. When she leaned in to sniff his neck, Stiles flinched away. “Damn, does he smell good,” Amelia purred, licking the side of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles glared and opened his mouth to respond, which Derek knew would be coated with cuss words, but Derek couldn’t hear it because Nick’s hand rested on his face, forcing Derek to look at him while he spoke.

“So do you,” Nick whispered, burying his nose in Derek’s hair. “Smell _so_ good.”

Derek turned his face, trying to get as far away as possible. He caught sight of Lydia. The Master had his nose in her –

“Get the fuck away from my chest, you pervert!” Lydia yelled, jerking away from the vampire Master as best she can.

The Master chuckled, grinning widely. “You sure are a feisty one, Strawberry,” he said.

“Stop calling me that,” Lydia all but growled.

The vampire’s name suddenly popped into Derek’s head: Caedmon. That’s what Amelia had said when they’d trapped her. _“My Master will destroy you all. Caedmon will become the Demon!”_ It hadn’t made much sense, but that had been right before she escaped, with the help of a vampire who looked very similar to Caedmon, so there hadn’t been much time for deliberation.

Caedmon leaned in again, but stopped short when Nick started talking again, his voice filled with confusion.

“Wait, a minute,” Nick frowned, taking another deep whiff Derek’s scent. “You smell…strange.”

Caedmon tilted his head and, from across the room, Amelia asked, “The hell are you going off about, Nick?”

“Just take a whiff,” Nick replied, gesturing towards Derek. “He doesn’t smell right.”

Though he would deny this if anyone asked, Derek broke out in a cold sweat when the two other vampires appeared before him, crowding and scenting and touching him. Images of shredded bodies and mutilated victims filled his mind. (“ _This thing has no mercy_ ,” the sheriff had said. “ _None. All this thing wants is blood, and probably a bit of fun too_.”)

All of Derek’s instincts were telling him to _fight_ to _get the hell away_ to _destroy the abominations_ , but Derek couldn’t do that. He couldn’t do anything. He was trapped. 

“That is no werewolf scent,” Amelia stated, her baffled eyes meeting with her Master’s.

“No, it is,” Caedmon countered with the strangest hint of grudging admiration. “But it’s faint. Mixed.” He looked perplexed as he asked, “What are you?”

Derek didn’t answer, but he did glare in the proper (and only) Hale way.

With a twitch of his lips, Caedmon asked, “Quiet one, aren’t you?” He turned to Amelia. “Can you make out what his scent is?”

Amelia closed her eyes and took another deep breath near the base of Derek’s neck. She frowned again, one that was more in concentration then confusion. “It’s… It’s… Strange.” Opening her eyes, she said, “I can smell the reminiscent of magic.”

Caedmon nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

_The hell is this?_ Derek thought. _A lesson? This isn’t high school._

“Master.”

All heads turned towards Nick, who spoke softly, in a language Derek’s never heard of, and considering his father’s persistence of learning languages, that was surprising. Surprising and (again, not that he’d ever admit this, but) unnerving.

“I am well-aware of the type of blood we need, Nick,” Caedmon clipped harshly. “But as _I’m_ the Master, _I_ want to know what he is, and _I_ intend to find out.” Black eyes locked onto Derek’s, and with a slow, chilling smile, Caedmon said, “I intend to find out through _any_ means possible.”

Eyes still staring into Derek, Caedmon nodded to Amelia, who grinned widely and sauntered towards Stiles at a human pace.

“What,” Derek managed to pull his eyes away from Caedmon’s gaze in order to back and forth between the Vampire Master and Amelia’s receding frame. “What are you doing? What are you going to do?” Only the minutest hint of hysteria could be detected in his voice.

“That didn’t answer my Master’s question,” Nicked growled, gripping Derek’s neck with this strong hands. He squeezed.

Derek couldn’t breathe.

Sneering, Caedmon said, “I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit from your little posse. Trapping my girl, stopping _two_ of my kills, and being absolute pains in my ass. This is just a little… _retribution_.” Caedmon’s voice fell flat, “So one last chance, what are you?”

Nick’s hand retracted from Derek’s neck, but coughing and gasping were the only things Derek could do. Caedmon sighed in disapproval and looked over his shoulder to Amelia.

“Do it.”

“Well, sweetie,” she purred. “Looks like I get to taste you again.” She widened her mouth and latched onto Stiles’ neck.

“Wait, no! No _oohh_ – Oh, God,” Stiles moaned, feebly attempting to escape.

With a sly smirk, Caedmon turned back to Derek. “Ready to tell me now?”

“Stop it!” Lydia yelled before Derek got the chance. “Stop it! You’re hurting him! Stop, you bastards!”

“We’re _vampires_ , Strawberry,” Caedmon explained sweetly. “We can’t _stop it_ when it comes to blood. Especially human blood. And we’re not hurting him. In fact,” Caedmon glanced over at Stiles, his lips curling at the edges. “I do believe your friend quite likes it.”

The vampire paused, continuing his once-over at Stiles; his jeans were tented, his mouth was hanging open, and his eyes were thoroughly glazed over.

Despite this, Stiles managed a weak, yet angry, “F-Fuck you.”

Caedmon laughed at that, but when he faced Derek, his face was cold again. “However, I don’t need human blood at the moment, so why don’t you tell me what you are.”

Derek tried to keep his mouth shut, tried to stay stoic, but even though it waspainful to remember, it was honestly such a dumb secret, especially right now. When Caedmon told Amelia to “make it hurt,” Derek knew he couldn’t stay silent.

“All right!” His voice was ragged. “All right, I’ll tell you!”

Reluctantly, Amelia stopped. Stiles was breathing hard and his eyes were glazed, but it didn’t seem like his brain had completely turned to an orgasm-hazed, gooey glob.

“Well? What are you?” Nick asked impatiently.

Prolonging the inevitable, Derek asked instead, “Why is it so important?”

“You’re Derek Hale,” Amelia answered flippantly, as if that made all the sense in the world.

“And I’m an impatient creature, boy,” Caedmon said, his eyes glowing. “What. Aare. You?”

Derek opened his mouth to speak, but, looking into Caedmon’s cold, black eyes, the words become stuck in his throat; he couldn’t say it. Feeling suddenly ashamed, Derek averted his eyes and murmured so quietly no one could hear him.

“Speak up, boy!” Caedmon demanded, yanking Derek’s head back by his hair.

Derek looked him in the eye, anger fueling his body enough for him to have to courage to spit out, “ _Human_.”

As soon as the admission reached his ears, Derek’s eyes dropped back down to the floor. That was not something to say with such paroxysm. It is not something to be proud of. Kate had humiliated him; she had taken his identity, the very thing that made Derek Hale _Derek Hale_.

“I’m…I’m actually…human now,” he said as he stared intently at the floor.

“Derek,” Lydia whispered sadly. It didn’t anger Derek, the way Lydia said his name. Only Lydia could make her voice sound nothing like pity – it was filled only with compassion and strength.

The three vampires blinked, surprise etched on all their faces. Then they threw their heads back and laughed. The noise was deafening, an almost screech-like sound that terrified all three prisoners.

“Derek _Hale_?” Amelia giggled. “Of the great werewolf line? The werewolf? Is a _human_?”

The statement seemed amused the vampires to no end, for they erupted in laughter once more.

“I just can’t believe it,” Nick added, clutching his sides. “Just imagine the tricks we could pull on his puny, human mind.”

_Was this really all the wanted to know?_ Derek thought in enraged bewilderment. _They only wanted to know what I was…for fun?_

When the laughter trailed off, Caedmon spoke again, his eyes gleaming with anticipation and humor.

“This is going to be more fun that I thought,” he said, and his companions nodded in agreement. “So tell me: how does it feel, Derek? To be helpless? Weak?” he leaned in, his breath ghosting on Derek’s ear. “Vulnerable?”

In his chains, Derek squirmed, wishing, _praying_ , he could break his binds. He wanting to tear his arms free and wring the vampires’ necks.

“Take this human for example,” Nick said, gesturing to Stiles. In the blink of an eye, he was standing across the room. “This human,” Nick turned Stiles’ head to the side and dug his fingers into Stiles’ mouth so he couldn’t speak. “This human isn’t going to see daylight again. Such soft, tender flesh,” he nuzzled against Stiles’ neck, who jerked away as best he could whist still being in a post-feeding haze.

“Leave him alone!” Lydia shouted. She rattled the chains, trying to free herself.

Caedmon suddenly appeared in front of Lydia, moving so fast Derek could feel a breeze as Caedmon moved from in front on him to in front of Lydia. He slapped her.

“Don’t touch her!” both Derek and Stiles yelled. (Well, Stiles tried to, but it came out more slurred than anything else.)

All Caedmon had to do was put a finger to his lips and the room fell silent again. One simple gesture terrified Derek and Stiles so much that they followed the unspoken command. Derek _hated_ the power the blood-sucking monster had over him.

“Perhaps,” Caedmon whispered softly, smoothing Lydia’s hair, “Perhaps I’ll keep you, Strawberry. Immortality would suite you, and having a banshee on my side would be quite…beneficial.”

Lydia sneered. “I’ll never be on your side, _bastard_.”

“Trust me, Strawberry–” Caedmon trailed his finger along her cheek, and Lydia tried to bite it. He pulled back, grinning. “So feisty. Strawberry, you’ll want to take up my offer, trust me. Having your blood drained isn’t a pleasant experience when it’s done the old fashioned way.”

Derek started at the knife that appeared in Caedmon’s hand, wondering why they needed Lydia’s blood. Was it because she’s a banshee? What could they do with banshee blood?

However, Lydia clearly hadn’t understood what Caedmon said, for she continued, “Scott will find us soon. Our _Alpha_ will get us out of here, and you really don’t want to know what he’ll do to you. He’ll–” She broke off at Stiles’ startled scream, her breath hitching and her eyes widening, moving to focus on the figure across from her.

“Stop!” Derek shouted, watching in horror as the blood dripped from Stiles’ arm. Or what was left of it. Less than a moment ago, Derek was sure Stiles had a long-sleeved shirt on. He was also sure there had been skin underneath that sleeve. Now, Stiles’ left arm was void of any fabric, and large pieces of his skin lay on the floor. Nick’s hands were bathed in blood. Lydia seemed to have gone speechless, her face white as paper.

“What were you saying again?” Caedmon asked impishly. He nodded to Amelia, who used her nails to make long claw marks on Stiles’ other arm. This time, Stiles gritted his teeth, refusing to let a single sound escape him.

Everyone who has ever read any vampire book or lore could tell you that vampire teeth contain a sedative, something that could make the act of having your blood drained extremely pleasant in either the most painful or the most orgasmic way – which, unfortunately, Derek could say with complete certainty that the rumors were absolutely true for the latter.

However, most don’t own a bestiary, so they have no idea that a vampire’s nails, the distal edge, can elongate into sharp, pointed claws, about one inch long. The distal edge holds a liquid – a poison. If they were to tear you apart, your skin would be burning and your blood would feel like ice. (Derek watched Stiles’ face and knows that this is exactly how his arms feel – only much, much worse.) You can die from a single scratch, if not treated in time; however most vampires are too chaotic and blood-thirsty to let a single scratch destroy their enemies.

Caedmon moved sauntering, walking humanly toward Stiles. He placed a clawed hand on Stiles’ chest.

“Will Scott tear us apart?” he asked amusement. His hand trailed up and down, making the fingers move in a walking moving. Hip. Chest. Hip. Neck. Chest. Neck. No one dared to speak. “With his–” and Caedmon’s voice altered into what could only be called a ‘baby voice’ “–little fox and little coyote and, gosh, that new ity bity beta. They’re just _so strong_. What _ever_ shall I do?” Caedmon let his voice trail off; his eyes went wide in mock wonder. It disappeared an instant later. So did the front of Stiles’ shirt.

Stiles flinched, as did Lydia and Derek, but when no sound escaped the human’s lips, Derek thought, foolishly, that Caedmon had only been trying to scare them. That he wasn’t going to hurt Stiles again.

“We’ve heard much about your Alpha. Your _True_ Alpha,” Caedmon informed. “Scott McCall, eighteen, starting his senior year of high school.” He began walking around, strolling casually. “His first love interest, Allison Argent was her name–” Lydia made a small, pained sound that only Derek could hear “– died in his arms. He’s currently dating Kira Yukimura, a kitsune.” He paused, lifting an eyebrow as he said, looking straight at Lydia, “A bit of a step-up from Allison’s pathetic Hunter heritage, wouldn’t you say?”

“How _dare_ you, you bastard!” Lydia shouted venomously. She continued throwing expletives at him, and Caedmon merely waited until she ran out of words and breathe before continuing on.

“He took on the Alpha Pack and won. He battled assassins, each with varying degrees of training, and won. The Alpha Pack, nogitsune, Peter, windigos, berserkers… Scott is quite the _winner_ , wouldn’t you say?”

Neither Lydia nor Derek commented, but Caedmon wasn’t perturbed. With gleeful malevolence shinning in his eyes, he raised his hands to Stiles’ chest and asked, “Do you want to see what I’m going to do to Scott?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“NO!” Lydia screeched, barely heard over Stiles’ scream.

Caedmon had brought his hands down, using his strength to tear the front of Stiles’ chest. The flesh was torn and bloody, holding on my literal threats of skin.

“This is what I’ll do to that precious alpha of yours!” the vampire yelled in triumph. The other two vampires cackled gleefully.

Derek reminded himself that he couldn’t see any organs falling out, that it could very much just _look_ worse than it actually was. Still, it must’ve hurt like hell, and the way Stiles hung limp, breathing heavily and heaving his chest, wouldn’t help matters in the slightest. Derek wanted nothing more than to rip Caedmon’s head off. With his teeth.

“This is just the preview though,” Amelia said, stroking Stiles’ face. She licked his sweat off her hand. “Scott will have many more parts to him, once we’re finished.”

Excited, Nick asked, “Master, can we show them what _we’re_ going to do?”

Caedmon grinned. “Of course.” Then he turned to Lydia, but he didn’t touch her this time. “And you, Strawberry, are next once the human’s bled dry. You refuse my offer, you die. Simple as that. Your blood doesn’t need to be fresh for me to use it and your body doesn’t have to be intact.”

Quietly, yet with that famous Stilinski sass, Stiles mustered up the strength to ask, “Where was… _my_ offer…l-leech brain?”

“You didn’t get one,” Caedmon snapped, barring his teeth, which had begun changing – elongating into needle-thin, razor-sharp rows of pins, “Because I don’t need _you_ , fool. Just the taste of your blood.” Then, with an inaudible _ZIP_ the fangs retracted. “Or rather, _they_ need the taste of your blood. My coven hasn’t had the taste of Stilinski blood in years.”

“Wha…What?” Stiles asked, his brow furrowing with confusion. He struggled to finish his sentence. “The hell…are you…talking about?”

Laughing, Caedmon replied, “I’d tell you to ask your father, but you’ll be dead before you get the chance.” He walked over to Derek and leaned against the wall beside him. “So Derek, Derek of the Hale line, Derek the former werewolf. Ready to see what we’re going to do to your friends?”

“Why are you doing this?” Derek demanded, ignoring Caedmon’s question.

And the vampire had the nerve to shrug. “I’m a vampire; you’re a werewolf. Or at least you were. You’re from a family of werewolves.”

Derek waited for more, but when Caedmon didn’t say anything else, he asked, astonished, “Is that it? You’re a vampire and my family carries werewolf genes?”

Another shrug. “Yes, pretty much. And you all were getting in our way, but it was more cumbersome than actually threatening.”

Speechless, Derek could only stare. The clichéd vampire/werewolf sworn-enemies trope was actually _real_? Those stupid teen romance books were actually _right_? Not that Derek actually read those books, of course.

“What about Lydia? Why do you need her blood?”

Caedmon scratched his chin, his eyes staring off into nothing. “To find someone. A coward.”

Derek wanted to ask for more information, but he was torn out of his head by Lydia’s shout. He turned his attention back to Stiles – and once again he swallowed down the feelings of well-deserved guilt, knowing that this was all his fault.

Stiles was now out of his chains, but he wasn’t in any better condition. He was in worse. Apparently what they had been doing before –nipping at his neck, jolting his wrists, drawing lines with their fingers down his legs– was just foreplay. The vampires had ripped him out of his bindings, and were now covering him, holding him down as they bit and scratched and _broke_ Stiles. Derek could see Stiles trying to fight back. Using what could only be adrenaline, he even managed to bop Nick in the nose and Amelia in the groin, but it was futile. Soon, too soon, Stiles’ energy depleted –the pain from his arms and torso certainly couldn’t have been helping– and he just laid there as he became prey for the vampires.

Beside him, Derek could hear Lydia crying. He didn’t blame her. He’s seen vultures feast on animals, both dead and alive, and the similarities between that and the scene before him was chilling. Stiles started out fighting, but now all he could do it lay there. He’d given up, simply because his body had given out.

“Enough,” Caedmon finally said. “My turn.”

Nick and Amelia immediately moved out of the way, bowing as they stepped backwards. Blood dripped down their chins. As Caedmon leaned in, his lips grazing against Stiles’ neck, fangs out, Derek found his voice again.

“Stop! Stop!” All heads turned toward him. He took a deep breath. “Just let them go, Caedmon. You’re issue is with me, a Hale, a _werewolf_. Not with them. Not Stiles. Please, _please_ just let them go.” Derek was well-aware that he was begging, but he really couldn’t give a shit. Begging for his friends’ lives wasn’t embarrassing or humiliating. It was the scariest experience Derek’s ever had.

Amelia laughed. “And waste this opportunity? We don’t think so.”

“And you’re not a werewolf, Derek,” Caedmon said. “Not anymore.”

With a nod that Derek just barely saw, the two vampires were suddenly by his side. The chains were no longer binding him, but the sheer vampire strength was. Then the room rushed passed him and he was standing (wavering) above Stiles. Derek immediately dropped to his knees and gathered Stiles up as gently as he could.

Whimpering, Stiles loosely clutched at Derek’s shirt. Up close, he looked even worse. Blood covered him like a newborn babe. His brow was dotted with beads of red-tinted sweat, and he was shaking more than a leaf about to fall off the branch. Stiles’ shirt was completely demolished, along with the skin under it. As Stiles gasped for breath, Derek could see his chest muscles moving with his breaths – red and wet and terrifying.

Behind him, Derek could hear Lydia shouting out Stiles’ name. She spat curses at the vampires, yelling everything from demands to entreats with them. They paid her no mind. Derek was too preoccupied with what was in front of him, his swirling thoughts and chaotic emotions, to really focus on what she was saying.

_If I could, I’d bite him_ , he thought. _Only the Bite could save him now_.

The thought terrified Derek. He knew when a person was dying, when there was only one thing that could save him, but Derek also knew that he couldn’t. Even if Kate hadn’t taken his powers away, he’d only been a beta. Stiles needed an Alpha. Stiles needed his best friend.

Behind him, Derek could hear Lydia’s chains rattling; she was trying to see. Derek was grateful he, and the vampires, were blocking the view. She shouldn’t see Stiles like this. No one should ever see anyone like this. But Derek couldn’t force his gaze away, knowing this was all his fault.

“Look at him, Derek,” Nick said, shoving his head down, making his forehead touch Stiles’. “ _Look_.”

The vampires were fools if they thought Derek hadn’t been looking. Stiles’ eyes were glossy and red, his cheeks wet. Derek would be crying too, if he were in that much pain. Stiles’ breathing was labored and his entire body trembled. Through the haze, Stiles managed to stare right into Derek. For the first time, Derek thought that Stiles could see into him, see his soul.

_‘It’s not your fault,’_ Stiles mouthed. He formed the words perfectly, but Stiles couldn’t articulate the sound past his bluing lips.

With his heart clenching, Derek shook his head. “No, no, _I’m_ so sorry,”he said, his voice hitching as he tried not to sob. “I’m so sorry.”

A presence at his shoulder reminded Derek of how close the vampires were.

“Now watch,” Caedmon growled in Derek’s ear, and, with an ease that shouldn’t be possible, he ripped Stiles from Derek’s arms. The next thing Derek knew, Stiles was being held up by Nick and Amelia, his throat barred.

Lydia, now able to see everything again, shouted, “Stiles!” The pain and fear in her voice was so tangible, Derek could’ve reached out and felt in on his hands.

Stiles’ eyes widened as he saw Caedmon’s arm raise. “N-No! Wait!” he cried.

Derek struggled to rise in time; all he thought of was that he needed to save Stiles. He watched, in slow motion, as Stiles’ throat was slashed. He was barely three feet away, yet Derek couldn’t get there. Even with werewolf powers, Derek wasn’t sure he’d be quick enough for the vampires. He watched as the skin on Stiles’ neck split. Derek’s face was splattered with blood. Stiles’ blood. It seemed to continue on for hours –the horizontal movement of Caedmon’s arm, the shock of pain on Stiles’ face, the tears pouring out of Lydia’s eyes, the skin separating with jagged lines– but then, suddenly, it was over.

Nick and Amelia released their grip on Stiles’ body. Time started ticking forward again, faster than before.

“NO!” Derek screamed just as Lydia wailed, “STILES!”

Derek scrambled forward, catching Stiles before he crumbled to the ground completely. Cradling Stiles’ body to his own, Derek felt the tears finally spill from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Stiles didn’t say anything back. His breath hit Derek’s neck in convulsed waves; his voice was garbled, as if he was trying to say something, but couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. Derek could feel the blood squirting out, staining his shirt as Stiles fought. 

And fight he did. But it was a losing battle.

Stiles coughed, blood spattering his chin, and his fingers still trembled, trying to clutch onto Derek, onto _life_ ,for as long as he could. Derek knew that Stiles’ ears were straining to hear Lydia, who was now sobbing uncontrollably, crying out Stiles’ name. He felt Stiles’ lips move on in neck; Derek knew he was calling back to Lydia, saying her name as if it would keep him alive.

“I am so sorry, Stiles,” Derek sobbed one last time, bringing a hand up to Stiles’ hair, fingers curling in the bloody, matted mess.

A strangled, barely understandable, “Der–” was all Stiles managed to say before his eyes completely lost focus and his fingers finally relaxed, releasing Derek’s shirt.

For a moment, everything was silent. Nothing could be heard from Derek’s ears as he watched Stiles fade out of life. He was hit with memories.

The first time Derek met Stiles, the kid had barely been a month old, yet his eyes were curious and his smile mischievous. He’d only met him because Claudia couldn’t stop showing her son off to anyone she crossed paths with. Derek remembered when he met Stiles again, barely three years ago. He remembered how energetic Stiles had been, taking it upon himself to help train Scott and understand lore, despite it being half-wrong most of the time. Derek remembered how Stiles kept him from drowning when the Kanima had paralyzed him. Stiles and he hadn’t been on the best terms, but that didn’t stop Stiles from trying to keep him breathing. Derek remembered how, just last week, Stiles teased him about how he was totally head-over-heels for Braedon. Derek remembered –

Lydia’s scream brought him back to the present. An honest-to-God banshee scream.

Derek felt his skull vibrate, felt blood trickle down his ears, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t move except to tighten his grip, press the body closer to his own.

Stiles was dead.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispered again, pressing his lips to Stiles’ dirty hair. Lydia was still screaming.

“Shut her up!” Caedmon shouted.

As Nick went to quiet Lydia, and God-only-knows how he was going to accomplish that, Caedmon and Amelia separated Derek and Stiles, yanking his body out of Derek’s hands. Derek sat frozen, unable to move. Stiles was dead. He was dead. And it was all Derek’s fault.

It occurred to Derek then that he’d have to watch the entire process all over again with Lydia. He could see it clearly in his mind – Lydia would be bloody and broken, just like Stiles, and she’d try to comfort him, just like Stiles, and then she’d breathe her last breath. Just like Stiles. Derek would press his lips to her hair as well. Then the sick bastards would bleed her dry, for whatever twisted, stupid reason they had. Finally it would be his turn, and Derek knew, with his shitty luck, that Scott and the pack would burst in then, saving him just in the nick of time.

Oh, _God_. How was he going to tell Scott? His best friend was dead because Derek couldn’t handle feeling useless. If it hadn’t been for Derek, they wouldn’t have gotten captured. Stiles would still be alive. Scott would likely kill him right then. Derek wanted him too. He deserved death. He deserved worse the death, but Derek was a selfish and scared little pup (no, not _pup_ , he’s no longer a werewolf; he doesn’t get the privilege to be called “pup”) and he would beg Scott to kill him despite knowing that giving Derek (even a slow, tortured) death would still be far too merciful considering what he did, what he allowed to happed.

“Now,” Caedmon took Derek’s shoulder and forced him to turn, to face Lydia, who had a piece of cloth tied around her mouth and blood dripping from the broken skin around her temple. Her eyes looked bloodshot and her face was streaked with tears. There was a large mark on her cheek; it was a handprint. “It’s the girl’s turn. Watch carefully, Derek. This one will be a lot longer that the last.”

Derek wished he could move, wished he could jump onto Caedmon’s back and rip him to shreds.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t think; he could barely _breathe_.

Stiles’ blood was everywhere. On him, on the floor. Everything wet and sticky and bright red; the smell of death was clinging onto him. He couldn’t get the images –Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Scott, Stiles, Lydia, Scott– out of his head. Derek was going to be sick.

When Caedmon reached Lydia, he’d been walking like a human again, he took off her gag.

“You’re going to die,” Lydia hissed the moment her mouth was free. “You are going to be ripped apart.”

Caedmon laughed. “I already told you, Strawberry,” he gently took her chin in his hands. “Your Alpha ain’t coming for you. Not in time, anyway. And my powers outweigh his measly werewolf Alpha senses”

But Lydia shook her head, dislodging Caedmon’s grip. “Not Scott. Someone else. Another vampire.”

This time, all three vampire’s laughed.

“Oh, Strawberry, that’s just not going to happen. There’s only four vampires older than me. One’s in Ireland, enjoying all the beer and fine lads she can get – which is quite a lot, I must say. One’s buried under three thousand feet of volcanic ash. He choose to visit Pompeii on Volcano Day. It’s just too bad he can’t die. Can you imagine being stuck in ash for eternity? The third’s over in Australia because she wants to live more like a human, the nature-loving bitch. And the last one? Well he disappeared nearly two decades ago. I threatened him and he just ran off. So bottom line,” Caedmon leaned in close, and Derek wanted to growl, but he couldn’t. He was still frozen. Still trapped in his thoughts. (Besides, the growl would only sound pathetic anyway.) “No one’s going to save you.”

There was silence for a moment. Derek knew Lydia was saying something, but he couldn’t hear what it was. He couldn’t bring himself to care either.

“Your friend is dead!” Caedmon screeched, leaning away from Lydia. His eyes flickered, turning red, and his teeth lengthened. “Dead! Take a look for yourself!”

With vampire speed, he brought Stiles’ lifeless body close to Lydia, throwing him on the ground. Then he ripped Lydia’s arms out of the binding. One wrist went through easily, though it would have bruises, but the other… Lydia screamed. Derek could hear the bone breaking and the flesh tearing despite only having human hearing. If he looked close enough, he could see the bone in Lydia’s right wrist peeking out of the skin. Blood dripped down her fingertips.

“He’s dead!” Caedmon repeated. “And never coming back!”

With a rough shove, Caedmon pushed Lydia onto Stiles’ corpse. Then he turned around and headed straight for Derek. 

“Let’s leave Strawberry with dead boy for a while,” he spat. “Looks like you’re next, Derek Hale.”

Part of Derek, a large part, wanted to stay frozen, wanted to let Caedmon rip him apart; it was what he deserved. Punishment. The consequence for his actions.

But Lydia was leaning over Stiles, crying and gently stroking his face. The way she looked at him…as if she could see the life he would’ve had, the life _they_ would’ve had… It was then that Derek knew he wasn’t going down without a fight. He _couldn’t_ go down without a fight. Lydia was still alive, and, dammit, Derek was going to make sure Lydia stayed alive, even if it meant killing himself in the process.

x~X~x

Lydia couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it. But there was no way she could she deny the obvious.

Stiles was dead.

His throat and chest were just shy of being completely torn out and his arms were covered in blood. He was pale, much paler than he’d ever been before. There was no way he was alive.

Lydia wanted to crush the vampires’ skulls. They fed, _fed_ , on Stiles before murdering him. Like he was their fucking toy! Their fucking _food_! Like he didn’t mean anything! He meant everything! Stiles meant _everything_! Couldn’t they see that? See how valuable and important he was? Of course, they couldn’t see it, or maybe they actually could, but it didn’t matter either way; they don’t care. They don’t care about Stiles, about the boy who became a man who became _everything_ to Lydia.

They just don’t care.

They don’t care that he was broken – that this strong, energetic being was still and limp. Broken. Stiles was broken. Psychically, mentally. Lydia could feel the cracks forming in her own self. Stiles had been completely shattered. He’d never get to finish high school, go to college, get a degree, kick ass at his profession, marry, have children, grow old with his friends, his wife… He’ll never get to do any of that now.

More cracks formed. Lydia knew she too would break. It was only a matter of time.

Not only was Sties’ neck slashed, but bite marks were everywhere. His neck, his arms, his chest. Carefully, Lydia moved Stiles into a sitting position and pulled him close to her, similar to what Derek had done. His head lolled onto her shoulder and blood dribbled out of his mouth. Stiles’ once animated brown eyes were now dull and lifeless.

He wasn’t warm anymore, and Lydia knew he would soon be cold. If the blood doesn’t circulate, the body doesn’t stay warm. That’s why dead people are cold. Because their heart doesn’t pump the blood anymore. Can’t pump the blood anymore. No circulation, no warmth. No breathe. No anything.

“Oh, Stiles,” she whispered. Despite the pain, Lydia brought her right hand and tenderly, very tenderly, stroked Stiles’ face. Agony jarred up her arm, but, besides a short strangled gasp, she ignored it. If a few more tears slid down her already-wet cheeks, well she certainly had the right, didn’t she?

She watched as her blood and tears mixed with the blood on Stiles’ face. It slid down his check and neck, merging with the drying-blood on his chest. A raindrop on a window. The car was going 50mph, and the wind moved the raindrop into the path of another, combining the pair so they slid further down the window, racing the other raindrops, trying to get to the finish line first. The blood droplet slid near his lips, teetering over the edge. 

It fell down.

A commotion caused her to look up. The vampires were trying to bind Derek. To the chains that used to hold Stiles. Part of Lydia thought Derek would’ve gone quietly, allowed them to do their will to him…except, somehow, Derek had found his strength again. He was fighting them. Like a werewolf.

Lydia honestly couldn’t tell what had been worse: watching Stiles die or watching Derek die with him. Derek had been so still. He’d been broken too – broken and fading. Lydia knew she was going to die, she didn’t have to be a banshee to know that, but she also knew she was going to die fighting, and she’s glad Derek came to the same conclusion.

Without even realizing it, Lydia had started crying again. She’d never felt this conflicted before. She knew that there were going to be three deaths, but she couldn’t, for the life of her (however long that would last), figure out why she kept thinking it was going to be the vampires. It was logically impossible. Improbable. Completely _implausible_.

She had no idea why she told Caedmon what she did; that Stiles would destroy him, destroy his companions. There is no possible way it could happen. Not unless Stiles was… Well, unless Stiles was not-human.

But that’s just ridiculous! Stiles wasn’t a supernatural creature. Not a werewolf or a banshee or a kitsune, and he certainly isn’t a _vampire_. He’s human. Was. Stiles was human. He’d been in Lydia’s classes since they were both still in diapers. He wasn’t a supernatural creature, a _monster_.

Her tears had mixed with Stiles’ blood again. She trembled, holding Stiles closer. A blood droplet moved, sliding down Stiles’ eye, down his cheek, and resting right on the corner of Stiles’ lips. It wasn’t right. It shouldn’t be there.

Lydia began to move her hand, anxious to wipe the blood away from Stiles’ mouth, but something lapped the droplet up. She sucked in her breath. There one second, gone the next. A tongue. Stiles’ tongue.

Slowly, as if in a trance, Lydia brought her hand closer, allowed the blood off her wrist to drip into Stiles’ mouth. Images of the nogitsune plagued her thoughts. Stiles couldn’t be a monster. He couldn’t be.

_(Something flicked against Lydia’s wrist.)_

Not after everything they’d been through.

_(Yes, there was definitely something pressing against her wrist.)_

It’s just not possible.

_(Licking her wrist.)_

There is not enough logic or evidence to support it.

_(Suckling her wrist.)_

Lydia gasped when Stiles’ eyes flew open and he lunged at her. She jerked backwards, about to let loose a startled cry, when she felt something pierce her neck. It hurt, but only briefly because after that initial pain, it was…nice. Really nice. She felt…wonderful actually. It was really, really…nice. Just like before. Except this was different. It wasn’t unknown monsters suckling her neck. It was _Stiles_. Lydia heard herself moan.

Stiles leaned into her, crowding closer until he was practically straddling her. Stiles moved one hand to press into the small of Lydia’s back and used his other to tilt her head more for better access; she arched into him, using her good hand to grab the back of (what was left of) his shirt. She wished Stiles’ knees weren’t barricading her thighs. Just one knee, that’s all she needed, just one placed perfectly so when she arched, she could feel him.

More. She needed more. She needed Stiles to take more. It was pure bliss. Ecstasy. God, it was better than anything in the world.

Then the pleasure disappeared.

“Oh God! Lydia, I’m so sorry!”

“Mhmm… Wha’ for?” she murmured.

Her head was in a fog and her eyes were barely able to stay open. She felt like she had the best orgasm of her life, which was why she was trying to figure out why exactly Stiles sounded so frantic (he should feel _proud_ for God’s sake) and why exactly that should be frightening her. She heard scuffles and shouts from…somewhere in the room. Or maybe she didn’t. It really didn’t matter though, because, somehow, she needed to convince Stiles to do it, _everything_ , again. And again. And again.

“You’re bleeding,” he said. Something brushed against her temple.

“Wouldn’t stop screaming,” Lydia mumbled, reaching forward, trying to pull Stiles against her again. Her attempts were foiled by a pair of hands gentle holding hers together. “Couldn’t stop screaming.” She frowned as her right wrist became uncomfortable, but she ignored it. “You gotta do it again,” she said, tilting her neck. “Please, Stiles. Please.”

But Stiles didn’t. Instead, he kissed her temple, whispering, “I’m sorry.” Then, “You’re wrist.” He gently cupped her hand, and brought it to his lips. Something wet coated it before a burst of pain cleared Lydia’s head instantly.

Lydia look down instinctively. Her wrist was no longer broken. Not healed, but the bone was back in the confines of her skin, and it was coated in a glossy substance that looked like saliva. She looked up to see Stile’s wide, iris-less eyes. Just back. Pure black. Like the vampires’ eyes. His mouth was dripping with blood. It only took a single second for Lydia to realize that it was _her blood_ and that Stiles had been _drinking_ her blood.

Lydia cried out in shocked terror, trying to backup, but considering Stiles –no, no, the…the _thing_ – was still sitting on her, she couldn’t get very far.

“What are you?” she whispered, her voice as steady as a newborn foal attempting to walk for the first time.

Slowly, Stiles – _it_ – removed itself from Lydia’s lap. “Stiles. I’m Stiles,” the thing said, holding his hands out, palms face down. He paused, searching her face, something akin to fearful hope plastered on his face. After several seconds, he added, “I’m still Stiles, Lydia. There... There’s just a lot more to me than originally thought.”

Trying not to hyperventilate, Lydia observed the figure the figure in front of her. It looked like Stiles. Sort of. His shirt was still torn up and his left sleeve was still completely gone, but his skin… It was its usual paleness, not the pasty white it had been minutes ago, but that wasn’t what shocked Lydia. His skin was there. It was _whole_. Lydia placed a shaky hand on his chest. It was smooth; there were faint lines, indicating past injury, but nothing else. Not even a scab. She looked at his arms and found the same phenomenon. She moved her hand up to his neck. The skin, where he had been slashed, only had the slightest jagged feel to it, but she could feel it fading, evening out.

Lydia looked up to see Stiles watching her. He hadn’t moved. Not even to breathe.

“Clearly,” Lydia said. She swallowed nervously. “You’re eyes…”

Stiles –no, _the thing_ – raised a hand to his face. “Oh. I’m…I’m…” He trailed off, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Hungry?” Lydia guessed, her hesitant voice barely above a whisper. 

“…Uh, yeah.” He still refused to look at her.

Lydia took a deep breath and let it out before she tried talking again. “Okay,” she said shakily.

Their moment –or whatever-the-hell you call that situation– was interrupted when a flying vampire crashed into the wall next to Lydia. He actually would’ve crashed _into_ her, but Stiles had reached for her, using his new-found strength and speed to pull Lydia close to his body and away from the vampire in the nick of time – no pun intended.

Nick, for that was the vampire that nearly smashed into Lydia, hadn’t even seemed to have seen the pair; he removed himself from the wall and ran straight forward. That’s when Lydia realized that the small scuffle she heard before had evolved into a full-fledged fight. 

(Had their conversation been much quicker than Lydia thought? Or had Derek actually been fighting them and holding his ground?)

Derek punched Amelia’s jaw and kicked Caedmon’s shin, as if he still had his werewolf powers; but Lydia wasn’t sure how long Derek had been fighting, and his slim chance didn’t last long.

“D-Derek!” Lydia called out, ripping herself out to Stiles’ grip, trying to get to Derek.

He was trapped, held by the two vampire sidekicks. One eye was swollen and his lip was split. Both hands were bruised and bloody, and Lydia was positive that his torso wouldn’t look any better. None of the vampires appeared to have any injuries, but they were all breathing heavily, which was a feat in and of itself since they were _vampires_. 

“Stay out of this, Strawberry,” Caedmon spat, not even bothering to look around. He raised a bloody hand to swipe at Derek’s bared throat. “You dumb mutt!” he hissed.

But then Stiles was there. Stopping the hand. Protecting Derek.

“S-Stiles?” Derek choked out, confused.

“The fuck?!” Caedmon shouted. He didn’t sounded confused; it was like he had bypassed confusion and just went straight to rage. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“Technically, I am,” Stiles replied with a grin. He used his other hand to punch Caedmon’s nose – the vampire’s head whiplashed backwards so far he fell. Then, Stiles turned around and knocked Nick and Amelia’s stunned faces together. The crack was so loud, Lydia winced.

“I haven’t done something like that in a long time,” Stiles laughed, turning to look at Lydia with one of his signature Stiles-grins. It was almost as if Lydia was transported into the past, when Stiles would make (one of those extremely rare) goals during lacrosse practice and he’d turn toward Lydia, whenever she would be there, with a big grin that was part-laughter and part-pride, and his eyes would always, _always_ be twinkling.

Twinkling golden brown stars.

Now, his eyes are twinkling black orbs.

Lydia wanted to look away, but she couldn’t force herself too.

“Stiles?”

At the sound of his name, Stiles’ wide grin turned into a surprised “O”. He whirled around. “Oh, right! Shit!” He dropped to one knee and grabbed Derek’s underarms, helping him to his feet. “You okay?”

Derek ignored the question – or, more likely, just didn’t hear it. He raised a trembling hand towards Stiles, adding more smeared blood onto the mess that was Stiles’ face. “You’re alive,” he whispered in complete shock.

“But we won’t be for long!” Lydia cried out, trying in vain to stand. The room was swimming and her head felt so light she was half surprised it didn’t just float away and leave the rest of her to become dust. Stiles had taken too much blood, albeit accidentally. “They’re waking up!”

Stiles cursed again. “Come on!” he yelled, pulling Derek the rest of the way to his feet and shoving him forward. When he stumbled, Stiles righted him and stayed for a second to make sure he wasn’t going to fall again before appearing beside Lydia in time to catch her.

“Blood loss,” she murmured. “I’m fine. Not in Hypovolemic shock.”

She saw Stiles mouth twitch downwards. At the sound of incoming footsteps, he glanced up and passed her to Derek, who, despite wincing, automatically wrapped an arm around Lydia’s waist and put her arm around his shoulders to help steady her.

  
“Keep her awake,” Stiles instructed. “And follow me.” He turned to the door and wrenched it open.

“It’s okay,” Lydia told Derek when he didn’t immediately move. “Follow him.”

And Derek did. Lydia had no idea if she should be relieved or worried. When they passed the door, both she and Derek ignored the torn metal hinges that the door was no longer attached to.

“We can’t dawdle,” Stiles said, standing a few feet away from them. His arms were crossed against his partially bare chest. “Hurry up.” He looked so incredibly _Stiles_ that Lydia’s breath caught. She felt Derek stiffen.

“Should we?” Derek asked, barely audible.

Despite her apprehension, Lydia didn’t hesitate. “It’s Stiles. We trust him.”

So Derek followed the vampire—followed Stiles. They had just turned the corner, barely ten feet away from the door when they heard it. A howl. But it wasn’t a werewolf’s howl. It was more like a scream; high-pitched and blood-thirsty.

Lydia couldn’t tell who shivered first. Her or Derek.

x~X~x

Derek wasn’t sure if he should trust the figure. It looked like Stiles, except for his eyes, and smelled faintly of Stiles (because even though he’s human now, Derek’s powers had left a faint imprint – it was the reason he hadn’t been ripped to shreds the moment, and those minutes afterward, he had started fighting, and dodging blows, against the three vampires), but Derek wasn’t sure. He _couldn’t_ be sure, and that was as frustrating as it was frightening. Lydia trusted the Stiles-figure though. For now, that would have to be enough. Until the thing proved itself. Proved to be Stiles… Or proved itself something that needs to be killed.

They were running now, the vampires hot on their heels. Derek had to release Lydia in order for them to run properly; he didn’t let go of her hand though.

“What the hell is this place?” he yelled. “A castle?”

“I think so,” the Stiles-but-maybe-not yelled over his shoulder. Derek saw his eyes go wide. “Keep running!” he commanded fanatically as he skid to a hasty stop.

Derek did as told, but glanced back quickly, watching the blur that was Stiles and –Caedmon? Nick?– fighting.

“I can’t do this for much longer,” Lydia panted. Derek spared a moment to give her a one-over, and saw the sheen of sweat on her too-pale skin. She looked much worse than before.

Suddenly, Derek hand was empty. He was also laying on the floor and his head hurt like hell. A shadow fell across him, and when he looked up, he saw Nick. His lip was split and his left face looked concaved. It reminded Derek of his own swollen eye. Frantic, he glanced around, but Lydia was nowhere in sight. Neither was the Stiles-creature.

“Pathetic,” Nick sneered, and put one of this boots against Derek’s neck. There was very little pressure, but Derek’s hands flew to the foot, trying to pry it off. He couldn’t and Nick laughed. “Such a pathetic little thing. The others will be here soon, but I’m sure they won’t mind if I,” he pressed a little harder, “Played with my food.”

With a manic laugh, Nick raised his foot, fully intending on crushing Derek’s trachea. “Bye-bye, wolfy. Tell your mother I say ‘Hi’,” he taunted.

Derek closed his eyes, cursing himself for his weakness despite knowing there was literally nothing he could do. A few seconds later, when he was still breathing and the weight was gone, Derek opened his eyes, wondering where the hell Nick had gone.

Then he saw it.

“Lydia!” Derek shouted.

The two were sprawled on the ground; Lydia must’ve barreled into Nick, knocking him off balance and away from Derek. Nick hadn’t been expecting it and Derek knew that was the only reason he was still alive.

Quickly, Derek scrambled to his feet. He had to get to Lydia. He had to get her away.

Nick was quicker.

“You bitch!” Nick snarled, pushing Lydia’s body away from him. He stood up and faced Derek, who was running toward them.

_Stop! Stop! You need to stop!_ Derek’s brain was screaming at him, but it was too late. Derek ran right into Nick’s open, clawed hands.

Taking hold of Derek’s shirt, and most certainly leaving tears in the fabric from his nails, Nick shoved Derek backwards with so much force, Derek felt like he was flying. Hoping to decrease injuries, Derek twisted in midair, but the speed at which he was thrown was far too fast, and by the time he finished twisting himself, Derek was about to crash-land.

On top of the Stiles-but-maybe-not.

The landing was painful, but Derek knew it would’ve been much worse had Stiles’ body not been there to break his fall.

He remembered it in slow motion. Just as he turned around, he saw Stiles, or whatever it was, slowly getting to his feet. It was almost comical the way Stiles’ face morphed from painfully dazed to pure confusion. Shock and understanding were the last expressions Stiles’ face morphed into before Derek hurled into him.

“Oh God, you’re heavy,” Stiles wheezed.

Groaning, Derek rolled off of him, feeling very much like he hit a freight train. A pillowed one, but a freight train nonetheless. At least there no were broken bones. Bruises, both physical and metaphorical (his pride), and he felt a bit rattled, but there were no broken bones, which was the important thing.

Carefully, the pair sat up…only to freeze immediately after.

Lydia was on her back, struggling against Nick, who was pinning her down. He put one hand on her thigh, moving it up, under her floral-pattered skirt and his other hand was working on the buttons of her blouse. As Lydia kicked and yelled and slapped, Nick laughed. He kept laughing, even when Lydia scratched at his eyes.

The moment Derek understood what was happening, when he shifted in muscles to tackle the vampire, Stiles was already there, ripping Nick away from Lydia.

“DON’T YOU TOUCH HER!” he raged.

Derek ran (limped) to Lydia, who grabbed onto him tightly the moment he reached her. Her head was bleeding again and her heart was beating so quickly, Derek could feel it. Together, they watched as Stiles shred, literally _shred_ , Nick apart. When Nick’s arm was severed, Lydia had finally stopped hyperventilating.

If it hadn’t been for the fact that it was completely and utterly terrifying, Derek would’ve enjoyed watching Stiles and Nick fight. Partly because Stiles was winning, but mostly because Nick deserved it, the bastard.

When Stiles finally ended it, tearing Nick’s throat out with his teeth, an act that Derek distinctly remembered wanting to do not even an hour ago, Lydia had her head buried in Derek’s shoulder. She was whispering prayers of relief, murmuring Stiles’ name as if it were a prayer in and of itself.

Stiles turned around slowly, almost nervously. When he caught sight of them, Lydia hiding her face and Derek’s unabashed shock, something flickered in Stiles’ facial features –Derek was nearly positive it was shame and grief– before his face closed off completely, becoming blank.

“The other two are coming,” he said, voice flat and monotone. Emotionless. Stiles’ body was dripping with fresh blood and, though his face was neutral, his eyes watched Derek and Lydia with a strange mixture of distress and detachment. “They’ll be here soon; we need to keep moving.”

“What are they doing?” Derek asked softly. Lydia was buttoning her shirt up.

Stiles was quiet for a moment as he searched Derek’s face; Derek wasn’t sure what he was looking for, or even if Stiles found when he finally answered: “They’re walking at a human rate, taunting us. We just need to keep moving.”

And so they did. They walked this time, no running. Derek wrapped his arm around Lydia’s waist again. Stiles didn’t look back in such a way that it could only be intentional. His hands were curled into shaking fists and his body trembled every few steps. Derek knew then, without a doubt, that it –no, no, _he_ – he had proved himself. He was Stiles, actually _Stiles_ ,and not some monster. How could he be? A monster wouldn’t care that he tore a man (vampire) apart in front of his friends. Monsters don’t have morals and monsters certainly don’t have friends.

A weight on Derek’s shoulders disappeared and his body nearly buckled from the liberation; not only did they have a chance of escaping, but Stiles was alive! Well…he was more or less alive. The point was that they could actually walk away from this nightmare!

No one talked except one line from Lydia.

“I think I have a concussion,” she whispered.

Derek tightened his grip and kept walking, kept following Stiles.

Halfway down the first staircase, a sound reached them. It was an icy wind, sinking into their skin and chilling them to the bone, and a dangerous snake coiling around their ankles, slithering upwards.

_“You’ll pay for what you did to Nick,”_ a voice said.

Another one, with the same genderless, icy voice, said, _“You can’t run forever. We’ll find you.”_

_“It’ll be so easy so rip your throats.”_

_“Drink your blood.”_

_“Steal your life.”_

_“You don’t have much time left.”_

_“We’re coming for you.”_

The trio kept walking, despite the cold dread that settled in their stomachs. They kept walking. And walking. And walking. Several minutes, several turns, and several staircases leading downwards, passed before they finally reached the end of the corridor. It widened, forming a circular, room-like shape.

It was also a dead end.

“We have to turn around,” Derek said when Stiles didn’t move.

“Can’t,” Stiles replied. He was staring at the murky water. “They’re too close.”

Derek wasn’t sure what else to do, so he let Lydia rest on the floor.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her pale face betrayed just how tired and light-headed she was feeling.

When Derek turned back to Stiles, to ask what they should do now, he paused. Stiles was breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Derek has seen what Stiles looked like before and after a panic attack, but this was not that. The wheels in Stiles’ head were turning, and Derek knew the signs of a mental breakdown, having had several during the first two years after the fire. 

Suddenly, Stiles punched the wall, leaving a dent in the cement. “Dammit!” he shouted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! FUCK! Stupid fucking castle!” He kicked the wall. “Stupid fucking vampires!” Punch. “And their fucking castle!” Punch. “With a fucking moat!” Kick. “Probably with stupid, fucking alligators!” Punch.

(Apparently, Stiles’ mental breakdown consisted of loud cursing and painful actions. Derek’s had been absolute silence and complete stillness.)

“Stiles!” Derek hissed, trying to keep his voice even and level. (He ignored the echoes of laughter that quietly filled the room, making everything, including his own skin, seem even colder than before.) Stiles looked at him, his color-less eyes wild and his blood-stained fists shaking. Derek held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Stiles, you need to calm down.”

“Calm down,” the words were said cautiously, as if Stiles had never heard of them before. “Calm down? _How_ am I supposed to _calm down_?!” Stiles exploded again, his voice full of pleading and desperation rather than anger. “There are _vampires_ after us! Vampires! My whole life has been a lie, Derek! A lie that _I_ put myself through! For God’s sake, Derek, I’m a fucking vampire! A _vampire_! And I’m too weak, I can’t fight them! I won’t win and you both will _die_!”

Several deep breathes later, and Stiles still wasn’t done. His eyes now held unshed tears. “Not to mention, there’s no way out of here. Not without going down there,” he indicated the water, “And you’d have to hold your breath for…for God-only-knows how long while fighting off I-don’t-even- _know_ what.” 

Without pause, Derek said the most idiotic response of mankind: “Then drink my blood.”

It hadn’t been what he intended to say, which would’ve been about trying to keep calm and act rationally, but, when Derek thought about it again, he realized it had been the right things to say; it was the only way to save them. Derek might not have been sure on everything Stiles had exploded about, but Derek did know that Stiles was losing it, and since he was their _only_ shot at surviving this, Derek was going to do just about anything to keep Stiles from having a complete breakdown.

The request seemed to have worked, for Stiles sobered immediately. “What did you say?”

“Lydia’s too weak, you’ve already drunken from her, and, according to you, they’ll be here soon. As much as it pains me to say it, you’re our _only_ chance.” It actually didn’t ‘pain’ Derek as much as he was letting on, though the reminder that his own strength was gone forever still hurt. “You said you can’t fight them if you’re weak, so…” he held out his wrist.

Stiles stared at it uncomprehending. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Actually I do. Take it, Stiles.” Derek presented his wrist again. “ _Take it_ ,” he insisted.

Stiles still hesitated. “Are you…sure?”

“Dammit, Stiles,” Lydia said, her eyes only half-open. “Get us out of here!”

Stiles only wasted two more seconds looking at Derek as if he’d grown a third head, before batting the hand away and reaching for Derek’s neck. Instinctively, Derek tensed and backed up. His back hit the wall just as Stiles’ teeth broke his skin.

And oh God! It felt _amazing_. Oh God. Just like when Caedmon did it. Except better. Definitely – _fuck_ , definitely orgasmic. God, why hadn’t he tried this before? Much better than sex. Much, _much_ better than sex. Oh, shit yes! He really needed Stiles to show Braedon how to do this. Or Stiles can just do it himself. Yeah, that sounds like a better idea –

Dammit, where did it go?

“You babble, did you know?” Stiles asked, pulling away. He wiped at his mouth while his eyes finally began turning back to their natural golden brown. The smug bastard was holding back his laughter.

“Fuck you,” Derek said breathlessly. He realized that he was clutching Stiles’ shoulder and lower back. Embarrassed, he quickly released his grip and decided that he really just wanted to sit down. He slid, his back against the wall, until he was resting beside Lydia.

“It sounded like you wanted to,” Stiles smirked. Derek flipped him off and Stiles laughed. He almost sounded happy, sounded like pre-vampire Stiles. It was almost worth the sheer embarrassment that Derek endured. Almost.

Except they only had a few seconds left now and Stiles quickly became somber. Swallowing nervously, he said, “Thanks guys. For, uh…”

“Not hating you?” Lydia asked.

“Reminding you not to be an idiot?” Derek suggested.

Snorting, Stiles shook his head. “Everything, I guess. Yeah. Thanks for everything.”

Lydia grinned at him, and Derek was about to say something he’d probably regret (like, _“That’s what friends do.”_ ) when two shadows towered over them. Derek knew this was it.

Stiles turned around and whispered, “Showtime.”

x~X~x

“Well, well, well. Look what we have here,” Caedmon taunted. He sauntered into the room.

“Quite the sight,” Amelia chimed, following closely behind her Master. “Quite a _wretched_ sight.”

It took every ounce of Stile’s power not to pounce on them right then and there.

“You’re tense,” Caedmon observed wryly. He spared a quick glance at Derek and Lydia huddled by the wall. “You don’t believe you actually have a chance, do you?” There was honest wonder in his voice. Wonder and morbid amusement. “A newly turned fledgling, against two senior vampires?”

Amelia threw her head back, roaring in laughter. “Oh, I think he does, Master. The little imp thinks he’s strong.”

“He thinks _wrong_ , Amelia,” Caedmon corrected, smiling wide. “Nick was overconfident, Stilinski, remember that. He let you get the better of him, and he paid dearly for that, but I am not Nick. I will win any fight; however, I’ll amuse you, Stilinski. Tell me, what do you know of me? Surely you must know something. Your emissary, Deaton, must’ve told you something about me.”

Indeed Deaton had, but Stiles remained silent. He watched the two vampires closely for any sudden movements, straining to keep his focus from wondering. It was difficult though; there were so many crystal-clear details he never noticed before: the spiders in the corner, the creatures –which were not alligators nor crocodiles, but something far older– in the water, the searing heat behind him, and the absolute nothing in front. (Damn, not taking his Adderall was finally showing its consequences. This was not a good combination with his newly rediscovered vampire powers.)

Derek and Lydia emitted waves of energy and emotions and _blood_. The warmth Stiles had felt from them before had turned into molten lava. They were so… _alive_. It frightened Stiles. Their blood called to him; he could still taste them on his tongue, on his teeth… and he wanted more. He wanted much, much more. He wanted to bury his face in their necks. He wanted to feel them struggle, feel them moan, as he drained their precious life from their vulnerable veins. The _want_ was so strong…

But that was the old him. Past him. Him-who-had-no-real-name.

The new him, present him, _Stiles_ , wanted to protect them. Save them. Keep them alive. And that urge was more powerful and more potent than the urge to kill and destroy and take. Stiles wanted, _needed_ , to make sure his friends would be able to get out of this hell hole with their hearts still beating and their mobility still functional.

Stiles could smell the lingering scent of wolf on Derek and the sweet and sour aroma of death on Lydia. If Stiles breathed in deeper, he could differentiate other scents as well. Sweat, fear, determination, even Lydia’s perfume – which smelled a lot better when Stiles’ olfactory senses wasn’t so strong. They smelled _alive_.

Amelia and Caedmon were the complete opposite. He knew their age from their scent (the newer the vampires smelled like death and rot, but the older ones smelled like earth and soil) and their strength from their blood (every creature a vampire kills adds to its strength, and the harder the kill, the more power the vampire receives).

Caedmon was old; he was one of the firsts. Amelia was barely over a century, but she’s killed far more creatures –mainly werewolves, judging from the smell– than many who were her age. Nick had smelled like rotten meat; he was just under three-years-old.

Stiles breathed in their scents again, distinguishing them from Derek and Lydia’s.

The vampires weren’t hot, but neither were they cold. Everything they emitted was false. Alien and deceitful. They had energy, but it was dark and tainted; it thrived off depleting the living. They had emotions too, but just like their energy, it was dark – selfishness and viciousness, anger and hunger, malevolence and abhorrence. The blood that ran through their veins wasn’t theirs. Stiles could smell the faint traces of multitudes of people, the most dominate being Derek, Lydia and…and his. Amelia’s body hosted some of his blood, the blood of _his life_. Stiles could smell faint traces of his human self still on and in him, but the way his humanity clung to Amelia, as if _she_ was the one who was alive, outraged him.

However, nothing incensed him more than the scent of Stilinski lingering around Caedmon. Stiles could smell his ancestors, his children, all over him. Stiles seethed.

“You sure are an angry little thing,” Caedmon all but cooed. He didn’t seem bothered in the slightest that Stiles had ignored his questions.

Amelia grinned, “And quite adorable. Look at him, scenting us.”

“Yes, he is.” Caedmon grinned and took a step closer. “I can teach you,” he said. “Cease this cumbersome fight. You’re humanity is lost, fledgling. Give up. Let them die, and join me. Let me show you what it really means to be a vampire. Let me show you who I am.”

“Don’t do it, Stiles,” Lydia whispered, her voice steady despite the fear dripping off her.

“Stay out of this, banshee!” Amelia hissed. She moved quickly, running towards Lydia with obvious intentions of flinging her across the room, but Stiles stopped her. Appearing right in front of Lydia, Stiles gripped Amelia’s wrists and pushed her backwards with enough force that she hit, and dented, the opposite wall.

“I’ll never join you,” Stiles spat out. He stayed where he was, blocking his friends from the vampire’s direct pathway.

“It’s futile, trying to fight us,” Amelia warned, rubbing her purpling wrists. She looked murderous. “You’ll only end up in pieces.”

Stiles jutted his chin out. “Like the pieces Nick is now in?”

“Worse,” Amelia growled.

“That’s only if you believe I’ll lose.”

The vampires laughed.

Calmly, Stiles informed the vampires, “I’ve never lost a fight in my life, Caedmon. I’ve never ran from one either.”

The laughter paused; Caedmon squinted at Stiles, tilting his head in confusion. “What are you talking about, fledgling?” he grunted.

Stiles grinned slowly, coy and serene, and the room was filled with the scents of weariness and minute anxiety. Caedmon didn’t like being in the dark about something, and Stiles silently lorded the unknown information, milking Caedmon’s anxiety for all he could.

Finally, Stiles spoke. “Tell _me_ , Caedmon…what do you know of the Demon?”

Now, fear spilled from the vampire’s pores. “Wh-what do you know of that name?” he demanded.

“I know much,” Stiles replied honestly, his lips curling into another sly grin; he just couldn’t contain his glee at Caedmon’s fear. “But I want to know what _you_ know.”

“He is the first vampire to have been created.” It was Amelia who spoke. “He reigned terror and was infamous for his unpredictability; he’d let some live while others he’d tear to shreds for no reason.”

Without emotion, Stiles defended, “There is always a method to the Demon’s madness.”

“I admired him,” Amelia said, staring at Stiles carefully. “He was a great Master, a great vampire. Or so I thought. He was challenged by my Master, challenged for the title, and what did the Demon do? He _ran away_ , tail between his legs,” she glanced at Derek, smirking and licking a fang. “Like a pathetic werewolf.”

Derek narrowed his eyes, but did nothing more. Stiles could smell the anger and, though it was a very small amount, infamy coming from Derek.

Caedmon seemed to shake himself then, for he said, “Yes, the Demon wasn’t quite so terrifying after all. It was just a façade.”

“Oh, Caedmon,” Stiles mocked, his voice soft. “You know the Demon much better than that. You know he doesn’t run away. Not unless he has a plan.”

Jerking backwards as if he’d been slapped, Caedmon hissed, “What they hell do you know of it?”

Stiles tightened his fist and allowed more memories to rise to the surface. His past, his actions, all his ‘firsts’. His mind remembered even if his body didn’t. His mind remembered his wrath.

“The Demon always protects his blood, Caedmon,” Stiles said, rage boiling to the surface. “Blood is family. And you just threatened mine.”

He let the words settle around the room, waiting only a few seconds, waiting for Amelia’s brow to furl and Caedmon’s eyes to widen, before he exploded in movement.

Quicker than ever, Stiles rushed at Caedmon, tackling him to the ground. Caedmon immediately began retaliating, scratching and biting. Stiles felt Amelia try to pry him off her Master, but Stiles only laughed. He remembered how much fun fighting was. He dodged Caedmon’s fist, ducking under it, like in the action movies he saw as a kid, and used his elbow to dig into Caedmon’s shoulder. As Caedmon crumbled to the floor, Stiles swiped his foot under Amelia’s, causing her to join her Master. They were back on their feet almost instantly of course, but that only made Stiles grin widen. He felt alive here, the thrill of the fight fueling his energy. Stiles continued dodging and tripping the vampires, never actually producing any blows; instead, he let the vampires create their own injuries, which exempted Stiles from doing any of the hard work.

What could’ve been seconds or minutes or even hours later, Caedmon shouted, “Stop!” and immediately, Amelia backed off. She and Caedmon were breathing hard, their lips split and bruises blooming underneath their clothes.

“You’re not even doing anything!” Caedmon growled. “Fight us, fledgling!”

Stiles moved quickly, clenching his hand around Caedmon’s throat. “Fledgling?” he repeated tightly, his face mere centimeters from Caedmon’s. “ _Fledgling_? Clearly, your brain has been a bit addled, Caedmon,” Stiles spat. “Haven’t I already proven I am no mere _fledgling_? Do you forget how fledglings must be born? They must be drowned in the blood of their human kin, then buried alive under a full moon.”

Releasing Caedmon’s throat, Stiles glowered down at the vampire, who was now doubled over, coughing and clutching his neck. Amelia had rushed to him.

“ _You_ are the pathetic excuse for a vampire, Caedmon. You claim to be one of the oldest, you claim to be the top four. You forget, _fledgling_ , that there were six vampires before you, and a thousand years between you and the sixth. You were the first of the _second_ generation.” Stiles paused. “You also forget that three of them, including the one that _made_ you, were all killed by the Demon.” He sneered, “You are not as old as you claim.”

“Who the hell are you?” Amelia demanded. She stood up slowly. “Who _are_ you?”

Smiling –not a grin, not a smirk, but a _smile_ – Stiles replied, “Have you really not figured that out by now, child?” He turned to the other vampire. “Say my name, Caedmon.”

When he didn’t answer right away, Stiles kicked the vampire’s ribs and Caedmon went down; Stiles put his shoe over Caedmon’s throat, like Nick had done to Derek, and held him there. This time, Amelia did nothing.

“I SAID SAY IT!”

The vampire choked out an undecipherable sound.

Stiles pushed down harder. “Louder!”

“Demon!”

Amelia looked up at him then, eyes wide, and took a step backwards.

“And I always protect my family.” Stiles removed his foot and squatted down. He placed his hand against Caedmon’s check, forcing the vampire to look into his eyes. “So my friends and I are going to leave. We’re going to walk out of this godforsaken castle, and you’re going to let us.”

Amelia clutched her throat and chocked; Stiles had stood back up and grabbed her by the neck. “Do you understand?” he asked, tilting his head.

She nodded as best she could with a hand contracting her windpipe and Stiles let her go.

Now came the hard part.

Swallowing down his apprehension, his terror, his memory of last time, Stiles turned to face his friends. Or who he hoped were still his friends. After his admission, he wouldn’t be surprised to find them with knives clenched their hands and horror etched on their faces.

To his utter disbelief, Derek and Lydia didn’t look frightened of him. They didn’t even look like they hated him. There was pride in Derek’s posture – actual _pride_! For a moment, Stiles felt like he was in a different world, one where he had been bitten, not Scott, and Derek had been teaching him something important, something hard, something Stiles just accomplished and passed with flying colors. He felt like how Scott would look whenever he had mastered a new werewolf ability all those years ago. When Stiles looked at Lydia, pride was also in her gaze, but it paled in comparison to the high esteem and trust in her eyes. She looked at Stiles like when he had made that goal during the lacrosse game, as if any moment she was going to run to him, throw her arms around his shoulders, and bring her lips to his. 

He smiled, small and cautious because he wasn’t entirely sure how long those feelings would last – and he really wanted them to last a long, long time.

When Stiles had crossed about half the distance to his friends, Derek starting to stand up, everything went wrong.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouted, but her warning came far too slow.

Before he knew it, Stiles felt himself be forcibly turned around. Something akin to concrete hit his face and his arms were pinned behind his back. His head was jerked up; Caedmon had fisted Stiles’ hair.

“Your little magic tricks have made you forget, _Demon_ ,” Caedmon spat, blood spattering Stiles’ face. “You never _ever_ turn your back on a vampire.” He raised his fist and brought it down forcefully. Had Stiles not been a supernatural creature of the undead, he’s sure he would’ve become an owl since his head nearly did a 180° turn.

“No!” Derek shouted. He rushed at Caedmon, but the vampire simply picked him up and tossed him away. Derek hit the wall with a cringing _THUD_.

“I challenged you, Demon,” Caedmon said. “I challenged you and _you ran_.” He brought his fist down again. “You ran and hid!”

Spitting out blood, Stiles corrected, “No, you challenged me and I _waited_. We both knew I could’ve beaten you easily, so I decided to make it more amusing.” Lowering his voice, Stiles said, “I decided to give you the chance to revoke your suicide mission.”

There was silence as Caedmon processed what Stiles had said, what Stiles had _insinuated_. Caedmon was _too weak_ to fight; he’d _lose_. Enraged, the vampire shouted, spit flying everywhere, “No! You ran! _Ran_! I should be the Demon! Me!” and he raised both fists to pound into Stiles’ face.

By the time Caedmon’s fists moved downwards, Stiles was gone.

Someone shrieked. A girl. It was cut off almost as soon as it started.

Stiles had twisted himself out of Amelia’s arms, switching their places.

The shriek came from Amelia.

The smashed skull used to sit atop Amelia’s shoulders.

“Wha – _No_!” Caedmon yelled. He stared at Amelia’s crumpled form, blood and brains oozing out of the mess that used to be her head. He glared up at Stiles. “How dare you! She was my best warrior!”

“Last chance, Caedmon,” Stiles said. “Revoke your challenge. Go back to your coven. And leave my friends alone.”

In answer, the vampire lunged at Stiles, fangs barred.

Sidestepping, Stiles sighed, “You’re funeral, dude.” Then he let his own fangs slip out, let his eyes turn completely red, and let his fingernails grow into sharp points.

There was a reason he earned the nickname _The Demon_.

x~X~x

Lydia struggled to stand, to make sure Derek was okay, to run to Stiles and hold him fiercely, but when she saw Stiles transform, her legs gave out again.

He looked… Well, this was clearly the reason why he was called _Demon_. Yet, somehow, Stiles managed to make the extremely terrifying look extremely attractive in an intensely rebellious-bad-boy sort of way. He stood tall and elegant, something he never managed to accomplish as a human. Even the way he fought seemed elegant. Before, it was clear he’d only been teasing the two, and when he fought Nick, he seemed too frazzled to really look like anything but a frantic vampire trying to protect his friends.

But now…

Now, Lydia could see why vampires were known for charming their victims. Despite his eyes, teeth, and nails, Stiles looked perfect. He stalked toward Caedmon, who wasn’t near as perfect-looking as Stiles, in a way that reminded Lydia of leopard stalking its prey.

“You’re growing weaker, Demon,” Caedmon taunted. “I can smell it.”

Stiles didn’t rise to the bait. In fact, he didn’t do anything at all. He’d stopped moving. The shadows of the torches flickered across his face.

“After I’m through with you, I’m going after your friends.” Caedmon circled around Stiles. Lydia knew that Caedmon was the prey thinking it could best the predator. “I’ll set your boy on fire,” he hissed. “Watch him burn alive before ripping his eyes and his stomach out. And your girl, oh, I’ve got plans for her. Such a sweet thing she is.” He leaned in closer, “I wonder if her skin tastes as sweet as her blood.”

Still, Stiles didn’t move.

The leopard waited, allowing his prey to get close to him. Sniff him, circle him. Letting the prey come to him. Death was so close, but the prey didn’t realize; even when the leopard’s jaws snap closed, the prey will still be as bind as a newborn kitten.

Caedmon frowned. “Aren’t you going to fight me?” he asked stepping closer. “Aren’t you going to defend your girl’s honor? Swear to never let your boy feel the flames that killed his family?”

Lydia watched as Caedmon got angrier. He went to put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Lydia was already thinking _Wrong move, asshole_ , when Stiles reacted. Grabbing Caedmon’s hand, his nails piercing the skin, Stiles twisted fluidly. Now, they were facing each other. Stiles knocked Caedmon’s feet out from under him while simultaneously pushing his chest in the opposite direction. Caedmon landed with a loud _THUMP_ , his back on the floor. Had he been human, most of his bones would’ve been shattered.

“They don’t need me to defend them,” Stiles gritted. “They can do it themselves.”

Caedmon growled. He rolled onto his upper back and kicked out his legs, landing on his feet in one fluid wave. With a shout, he attacked Stiles again. This time, it was a whir. Lydia could barely distinguish the blur in order to differentiate the two vampires. They fought for what couldn’t have been an entire sixty seconds before one of them had thrown the other into the water.

“Stiles!” Lydia cried, forcing herself to move. She stumbled toward the vampire; Stiles caught her by her waist. “Are you okay?” she asked, gripping his shoulder and back in an attempt to stay upright. (She also didn’t plan on letting go of Stiles for a very long time.)

“Demon!” Caedmon shouted. He appeared to be struggling. Something flickered out of the water for a second; Lydia had no idea what it was. “Don’t think these beast will hold me for long! I will kill you, Stilinksi! I will–!” He was pulled under.

When Lydia turned her attention back to Stiles, she saw his fangs receding and felt his nails against her back grow shorter. His eyes faded from the bright red. Suddenly, he looked very tired.

“Are you okay?” she whispered again.

“…We should check on Derek,” he said, and Lydia knew he was purposely avoiding her question, but she let it pass. For now.

By the time they reached Derek, he was only just waking up.

“Ow,” he complained bringing a hand to his head. “Oh, fuck.”

Stiles squatted down to help Derek sit up. “You’ve got a hard head,” he said wryly. “Lucky you.”

Derek glared at Stiles, but accepted his hand and slowly got to his feet. Lydia was leaning against the wall.

“And it’s a good thing you’ve got some werewolf mojo left,” Stiles continued. “Or else your head would’ve been a lot worse.”

With a twitch of his lips that Lydia knew was Derek’s way of trying not to smirk, the former werewolf asked, “Are they gone? Can we leave now?” Lowering his voice, he added, “You look like death warmed over.”

Stiles frowned, but Lydia couldn’t tell if it was from the former questions or the latter; either way, he ignored Derek’s final question. “Amelia is dead, but…” he looked at the water. “Never assume a vampire is dead unless you’ve seen its body and burned it yourself.” He took out a lighter from his pocket (and, God, had it only been a few hours ago that the Sheriff had given it to him? he told Stiles and Lydia that they might need it, but Lydia’s sure the sheriff didn’t have this in mind for its purpose…that is…unless the sheriff has been hiding a very big secret, and he actually _did_ mean it…but that question can wait for now), and walked over to Amelia’s body. He had barely touched her skin when the whole corpse went up in flame. She was ash in a matter of seconds.

“Sensitive to heat much?” Derek asked. His tone was light, but his eyes were wide, darting between the lighter and Stiles. Lydia was positive Derek was calculating the best ways to protect Stiles from all things heat.

Laughing softly, Stiles answered, “A bit.” Licking his lips, he glanced at them. “The sun won’t harm me though,” he assured. “Painful? Yeah, but it won’t cause me to burst into flames. More like a really, really bad sunburn, and that’s only if I don’t apply sunscreen.”

“Is that for all vampires or just the oldest ones?” Lydia asked.

Stiles grinned. “Just the oldest ones.”

Lydia grinned back, but her smile slipped as she remembered something. “Wait, what about Nick? Shouldn’t we burn his body too?”

Stiles looked a bit sheepish at that. “Oh… Well, there’s no need, really,” he admitted slowly. “There…wasn’t much left of him after I…finished.”

“And the bastard deserved it,” Derek added seriously, clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Startled, Stiles glanced at the hand, but when he looked back up, he was grinning. No one mentioned the tears in his eyes.

Then, because nothing was ever easy, some sort of beast flew out of the water, landing by their feet in a dull thud. Lydia stifled a scream and Derek and Stiles scrambled backwards, hitting the wall on either side of the banshee.

The creature was brown, but other than that, there was nothing familiar about it. Its jaw was enlarged and there were rows of pointy teeth. It had four legs, though the front two appeared to be more like long, hanging arms. The claws were long, sharp, and curled. It looked like a weird, disturbing cross between a crocodile and beaver and something else that wasn’t on this planet.

It comforted Lydia that the thing was dead.

“Afanc,” Stiles whispered.

“We need to leave now,” Derek said.

As the trio shifted their weight, getting ready to slowly creep out of the room, another one burst through the water, and this one was alive. Injured, but very much alive.

“RUN!” Derek shouted, already starting for the door. Lydia tried to follow, but vertigo was hard to dismiss and she could barely take three steps without wanting to lie down. (Blood loss doesn’t get cured in an hour, you know.)

Before she knew it, Stiles had thrown her onto his shoulder and was running toward Derek. Soon, Stiles was running at vampire speed through the castle with Lydia and Derek on his shoulders. Lydia managed to watch their surrounding pass by for a whole six seconds before she got too dizzy and closed her eyes.

Around a minute later, they stopped. Well, actually, if one wanted to be technical about it, they collapsed. Stiles had started slowing down a few seconds before, but now it seemed his body had simply given out.

Rolling off, and she saw Derek doing the same thing, Lydia tried to move Stiles onto his back. Derek immediately went to help her.

“Stiles?” she asked cautiously, half afraid there wouldn’t be an answer.

For two terrifying seconds, Stiles was absolutely still, but then his eyes blinked open.

“Wh-What?” he slurred.

Stiles looked awful. His face was nearly paper-white and he was shivering. If he looked like death warmed over a few minutes ago, now he looked like a corpse come back to life – which was a pretty accurate description of what happened to him, actually.

“You collapsed,” Lydia explained gently. She and Derek helped him sit up since Stiles’ arms were shaking far too much.

Stiles didn’t look very surprised. “Oh. Great.”

“We’re almost free,” Derek said. “Think you can make it past those doors?”

Shaking his head, Stiles corrected, “We’re not free. Not yet. Caedmon’s still alive.”

“Then we should get out of here now,” Lydia said firmly. “Come on, Stiles, don’t give up on us now.”

“Who says I’m giving up?” he asked, giving her a tired smile.

Slowly, the trio managed to stand; Stiles in the middle with his arms loosely around Lydia and Derek’s shoulders with their arms wrapped around his waist.

Despite still feeling lightheaded and weak, Lydia managed to walk forward. She focused on her side where she felt Stiles. It wasn’t hot, but neither was it cold. Being against Stiles felt like leaning against the moss on a very old tree. He smelled like trees (specifically, the Sweet Olive tree) too. Like nature.

“When this is over, you’re going to tell us what the hell has been going on,” Derek told Stiles firmly.

“…Okay.”

Derek glanced down. “I mean it, Stiles. You’re going to tell us.”

“Yeah.” Stiles refused to meet his eyes. He wouldn’t even look at Lydia. “I promise.”

x~X~x

The moment they stepped outside the doors, Derek knew they weren’t in California.

“Where are we?” he asked.

Stiles sniffed the air –Derek ignored the twinge in his heart– and said, more to himself than to anyone else, “No wonder Scott never busted in to save us.”

Derek frowned. “What?”

“England,” Stiles clarified. “I think we’re in England.”

“Oh, wow,” Lydia looked around. “I’ve always wanted to go England.”

“Looks more like we’re in some woods,” Derek grumbled. “How far from civilization are we?”

Stiles didn’t answer. Derek looked down to find Stiles dozing. He would’ve been mad had Stiles not looked like a cancer patient with hair.

“Stiles?” Lydia nudged his shoulder.

“Huh – Wha – I’m awake,” he stuttered out, clumsily putting weight back on his feet again.

“Stiles, how far from civilization are we?” Lydia repeated.

Closing his eyes and taking in another deep breath, Stiles went silent for so long Derek thought he’d fallen asleep again. “Not too far,” he finally said. “Fifteen miles that way,” Stiles nodded his head left. “It’s a small village. At best.”

“Better than nothing. Let’s go.” Derek began walking in the direction Stiles said.

“Wait, Derek.”

Derek glanced at Lydia, who looked worse than dead-on-her-feet. She was looking at the moon. “What is it?”

Lydia tore her eyes away from the sky and Derek realized how bloodshot her eyes were. He wondered how bloodshot his eyes were. He was awfully tired. Weren’t they taken late last night? It couldn’t have been the same night, so twenty-four hours had to have passed somehow. Wait, they were in England. Isn’t that twelve hours ahead of America? Or is it behind? Ten hours? Eight?

“We need to sleep.” Lydia said, tearing Derek out of his musings. “Somehow.”

Shaking his head, Derek tried to argue, “You heard Stiles, we can’t be sure that Caedmon is–”

“ _Derek_ ,” Lydia interrupted. “Derek, we all need some rest. None of us stand any sort of chance if we’re falling asleep. Let’s just rest, you can take first watch; I’ll take second.”

Between them, Stiles mumbled something about watches.

“Not you, Stiles, you need your sleep more than us,” Lydia said. Looking back at Derek, she said, “Please?”

Derek sighed. Lydia was completely right. The only problem was: “And where do you think we can sleep? The minute Caedmon escapes the afancs, he’ll come for us, and he’ll come quickly.”

Lydia shrugged. “Tree?”

It was the best they could get.

“Okay, Okay. But let’s walk at least ten minutes,” he insisted. “I want to get as far away from that castle as possible.”

Shuddering, Lydia said, “Agreed,” and they continued walking. (Well, Stiles’ “walking” was more accurately described as just shuffling his feet.) After twenty minutes –because once Derek starts walking, he walks, especially when he’s half-asleep– they stopped, but didn’t climb any trees. Derek had found a small depression in the forest floor, and it really said something about Lydia that she followed him down the slight-hill and rested where he told her too, no complaints about bugs whatsoever. Unconsciously, they maneuvered Stiles, who was practically half-asleep anyway, until he was resting with his head on Lydia’s lap. Then, Lydia rested her head on Derek’s shoulder and she succumbed to sleep’s clutches.

Derek ended up staying awake all night because he just couldn’t bring himself to wake up Lydia.

Or, well, he _tried_ to stay awake all night, but he’d fallen asleep, and he hadn’t even realized until he heard a scream that rattled earth and caused the birds to fly away cawing. Everyone was jolted awake.

“What was that?” Lydia whispered, voice thick with sleep and fear.

Stiles had shot up to his feet the second he heard the scream. “Caedmon,” he said, eyes wide. “He’s coming after us. Right now.”

“It took him _that_ long to fight the afacs?” Derek asked. He stifled a yawn.

Frowning, Stiles said, “Those things can be very tricky to fight… Derek, did you get _any_ sleep?”

“Derek!” Lydia gasped, becoming more alert. “I told you to wake me up!”

Shrugging, Derek lied, “I forgot.”

Lydia looked as if she had more to say on the matter, but Stiles put a hand up for silence. “He’s running,” he whispered. “He’ll be here soon. There’s… There’s something I can do, but…it’ll make me significantly weaker again.”

There wasn’t even a pause.

“Do it,” Derek and Lydia agreed.

With a curt nod, Stiles closed his eyes and brought his hands up to his chest. He cupped them to form a wide circle, took a deep breath, and whispered, “ _Ungesewen_.”

The language was unlike the guttural sounds the vampires had used, but it was just as foreign to Derek’s ears. Electric blue mist formed in the center of Stiles’ cupped hands and Derek went from grudging admiration (because Stiles knowing any language that isn’t ‘weird-Stiles-dumbass-speak’ is a surprise) to jaw-dropping shock. The mist grew and grew, until it enveloped the three of them. Derek shivered slightly as the coolness touched his skin, not because the mist felt like ice, which it did, but because it felt _alive_. The blue vapor buzzed and hummed, as if it were trying to communicate with Derek. Honestly, it made him want to sleep again. He felt safe.

“What did you do?” Lydia questioned, inspecting her blue-tinted skin with awed curiosity.

Before Stiles got the chance to answer, Caedmon appeared in their line of vision. He ran until he was nearly on top of them, but stopped just short of three feet away. He looked awful. Caedmon’s clothes were wet, muddy, and torn. Blood stained parts of his clothing and skin, though he didn’t appear to have any gashes.

He was looking around, peering in bushes and scouring the treetops; he even stared right at the trio, scenting the air around them. But then he shook his head and cursed. 

“I will find you!” Caedmon shouted. He slammed his fist into the nearest tree, the leaves fell quivering down. “Don’t think you can hide from me forever, Demon!”

Then he continued running. 

Lydia exhaled slowly. “What…just happened?”

Derek blinked. “Did you… Are we… Invisible?”

Stiles, the brat, was grinning. “More or less,” he answered motioning for them to stand up. “We’re only invisible to Caedmon, though, and since we only have twelve hours for this spell, we should really get going.”

“But… We’re _invisible_?” Lydia reiterated. “How? By what?”

Stiles laughed, sounding, for the first time in what felt like forever, happy. “Magic!”

Choosing his words carefully, Derek asked, “Does that mean…you were… A – A mage? You know… Before?”

Stiles actually tilted his head at that, considering his answer. “I believe we called ourselves Druids,” he said. “But yes, essentially.”

“Now I really want to hear this story,” Derek said in awe. (He seriously need more sleep.)

“Why not now?” Lydia proposed. “We have twelve hours.”

Stiles’ eyes widened. “No! Uh, I mean, not now. Later, when we have to rest again.”

Derek glanced at Lydia and he could tell they were thinking the same thing. Stiles was still nervous about his true past, and he was probably going to water-down most of it. Strangely, Derek felt okay with that. After all, it was Stiles’ story, not his. (Or maybe he just really needed to go to sleep.)

“How long until we reach the village?” he asked.

“Not really sure,” Stiles said. He slowly got to his feet. “We still have about fourteen, fourteen and a half miles to go.”

Lydia, always the clever banshee, came to the rescue. “It would normally take us about five more hours, but that’s at a normal speed, and we haven’t eaten anything nor gotten any proper rest for hours.”

“You said we have about twelve hours of this invisibility, right?” Derek asked Stiles, who nodded. “Well then we shouldn’t worry. Besides, I’m sure we’ll find some food on the way.”

x~X~x

They did indeed find food, and Lydia has never felt so excited for some weird berries and mushrooms in her life. Stiles, of course, insisted that he try some first, just in case they were poisonous, but they weren’t, and they were positively delicious, whatever they were.

Walking to the village was a slow process, just like she predicted. Despite feeling better, Lydia still had to sit down and munch on berries every hour or so, or else she’d feel like passing out. Derek was no better – after all, the idiot stayed up watching them all night! Lydia wanted to throttle him. The whole point of taking shifts was so everyone could replenish their strength, and Derek knew that! He kept stumbling and tripping over every root, even the non-existent ones. Stiles was significantly weaker, like he warned. His energy had been much higher when he first woke up compared to now, and at the rate he was depleting, he’d be worse than Derek in roughly two hours.

“How many miles have we gone, Stiles?” she asked. It felt like they’d been walking all day, but the sun was still above them, so it couldn’t have been more than three hours.

Stiles shut his eyes. “We’ve walked…about…” When he opened his eyes and turned to her, he looked devastated. “About three and a half miles.”

Lydia sighed.

“Why’s it taking so long?” Derek moaned. He was resting on the floor, his back against a tree. With eyelids half open, Lydia wouldn’t have been surprised if Derek fell asleep within seconds.

“Did you seriously just ask that?” Lydia ran her fingers through her hair. They all were a complete wreck. No one had their phones or wallets or anything remotely useful except for Stiles’ lighter. There was no way for them to call Scott or Stiles’ dad (though he probably wasn’t really Stiles’ dad, was he?) or even Braedon, Derek’s kick-ass, assassin girlfriend.

“Wait.” Stiles frowned and took another deep breath.

“What is it?” Derek asked. “What do you smell?”

Stiles took another deep breath, as if he couldn’t believe it. “I smell… A road.” He turned to look at Lydia, his eyes wide. “Lydia! There’s a road!”

“And a road means cars!” she said, smiling.

“And cars mean people!”

Derek stood up. “Then what are we waiting for? Find that road, Stiles!”

Unfortunately, their excitement was short-lived. Yes, they found the road, but it was full of potholes and there wasn’t a single car in sight. The only good thing was that it would lead them to the village. (If it was there that is. Just how reliable is newly-formed vampire senses anyway?)

They walked for another hour in silence. Without any branches and tree roots in their way, the trio managed to walk two more miles with ease. Well, that is if you ignored the fact that Stiles tripped nine times, Lydia had to sit and munch on berries four times, and Derek fell asleep each time they stopped except for two.

“Stiles,” Lydia said quietly, unsure if she really wanted to know the answer, “Stiles, there’s going to be people at this village, right? It’s not abandoned or anything, right?”

“There’s going to be people there,” Stiles said firmly. “I can smell them.”

“Okay.” Lydia didn’t ask if they were alive or not. She didn’t want to know that yet; didn’t want to know just how strong Stiles’ sense of smell was.

They trudged along for two more hours in silence, but when the third hour loomed before them, no one could go on. Stiles’ legs had completely given out, Lydia felt as though she was going to throw up any minute, and Derek just curled into a ball and fell right to sleep. He closely resembled a sleeping wolf, no pun intended – cute and peaceful, but poised to attack at the smallest hint of danger. If only he didn’t look like a squirrel could defeat him.

“We’re doomed,” Lydia mumbled, gripping her stomach. Blood loss, concussion, nausea… Lydia’s life just couldn’t get _any_ worse, could it? She sighed and put her head between her knees, willing the nausea to go away. She felt a hand squeeze hers. When she looked up, Lydia saw that Stiles had scooted over to her. His head rested beside her thigh and took hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb across it mindlessly.

He didn’t tell her she was wrong or say that they needed to think positively or do any other bullshit like that. All he said was, “We still have hours remaining on my spell.”

The thought comforted Lydia, but not by much. They were only prolonging the inevitable; none of them would ever see their families and friends again. They probably would never see Beacon Hills again. They were sitting ducks, waiting for the hunter to find them and stuff them. Lydia wanted to ask Stiles why he kept getting weaker –because he’d drunk both her and Derek’s blood, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d be weak _again_ – but Stiles had fallen asleep and Lydia was too close to sleep’s clutches to ask, let along care.

Then the ground started shaking.

“Wha–?” Stiles lifted his head to blink groggily.

Derek, too, had woken. “Earthquake?” he murmured questioningly, sounding more annoyed than worried.

In the distance, a shape forming on the road; Lydia gasped as soon as she realized what it was.

“Car!” she shouted, getting to her feet as a new burst of adrenaline surged through her veins. Stiles and Derek appeared to have had the same phenomenon, for they were on their feet, jumping and waving their arms to get the truck’s attention.

And it worked! The truck slowed down and the tinted window rolled down to reveal a greying man with laugh lines around his eyes.

“What are you kids doing out here?” he asked, his voice thick with an accent Lydia couldn’t place, and didn’t really care to. He looked at their attire with caution; Lydia knew they looked awful – dirty, sleep deprived, tattered clothes, especially in Stiles’ case.

“We’ve been kidnapped, sir!” she said. “My friends and I are just trying to get home.”

The man raised an eyebrow at her voice. “You kids are far from home,” he stated, gesturing for them to get into his truck. “Come in, come in, I don’t live too far from here.” He waited until Derek shut the door before speaking again. “I’m afraid we’re not that big of a city, but we do have our own municipal police.”

“Municipal?” Derek asked.

“He means local law enforcement,” Stiles explained.

The man nodded. “My name’s Martin, by the way.” Lydia, Stiles, and Derek told him their names. “How’d you manage to escape the demons?”

Stiles stiffened. “What?”

“Demons,” Martin repeated. “Them undead folk. They would use that rotting castle few miles back that way.” He jerked his head toward the direction they had been walking. “Scotland Yard never believed us, that there’s a demon infestation here, but there is,” Martin said. He sounded so sure about it.

“We eventually just gave up on them. The demons never took any one of us, so we just ignored them. Not a lot of young people where we’re heading, just old, retired men and women like me. Sometimes our grandchildren visit, but that’s generally in the summer.” Martin shrugged.

Lydia glanced at Stiles and Derek. They didn’t seem averse to admitting the truth, so Lydia did. To an extent. “Um, yeah. It actually was demons who took us.”

“Well,” Derek chimed in, casting a quick glance at Lydia, “That would make the most sense. We didn’t really know what they were.”

“How’d you escape?” Martin asked again.

“We have no idea,” Stiles said. “We just…ran.”

Martin nodded, humming and impressed tune. “Well, you don’t have to worry no more, I’ll get you home in no time.”

“Thank you, sir,” Lydia said, putting as much feeling into it as possible.

“Martin,” he corrected.

For some reason, intense relief filled her, and Lydia couldn’t stop from smiling. She felt so safe in this ratty, rusty blue truck. “Thank you, Martin.”

x~X~x

They’d been at the police station, or whatever it was called here, all day. First it was to answer questions about what happened to them, next they answered questions the shrink had – thankfully, they all cleared. Then it was to “provide evidence,” which was a fancy way of saying they had to give away their clothes and let people poke and prod them in order to collect data and make sure they were healthy. At least they’d gotten to take showers afterward, and Martin had brought them Chinese takeout andclothes! After all that, they were allowed to call their family. Thank God the officers left the room for that conversation.

_“Who is this?” Scott’s voice said. He sounded cold and guarded._

_The phone was on speaker, but it was still Stiles who answered, “Scott, it’s me.”_

_There was a beat, then, “Stiles? Is that really you?” His voice sounded different; he had put his own phone on speaker as well._

_“Yeah, it’s really me, dumbass. Lydia and Derek are with me too.”_

_Kira’s voice could be heard. “Are you guys okay? Where are you? What happened?”_

_Lydia sighed. “That’s…a really long story.”_

_“We’re somewhere in England though,” Derek added._

_“England?” That was Scott. “How’d you guys get to England?”_

_In the background, they heard Malia ask, “England’s a country, right?”_

_“Like Lydia said, long story.” Stiles said. He glanced at the clock; they didn’t have much time left._

_“You guys didn’t just decide to get on a plane and go there for fun… Right?” Liam asked, his voice implying he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it anyway._

_Stiles sighed. “No, we didn’t. The…the vampires took us,” he said truthfully._

_“What!?” Scott, Kira, Liam, and Malia had all shouted._

_Derek tried to reassure them. “It was only three of them, and all but Caedmon are dead. We’re at some village right now. They’re taking us to a big city tomorrow with an airport.”_

_Lydia added, “And the Sheriff, or whatever they call him here, is calling Stiles’ dad right now explaining the situation. We should be home soon.”_

_“I want to hear this story,” Scott said._

_Derek’s eyes flickered to Stiles._ Yeah, me too _, he thought._

_“You will. I’ll see you soon, buddy,” Stiles said._

_Before he could hang up, Derek quickly spoke up. “Hey Scott?”_

_“Yeah, Derek?”_

_“Tell Braeden I’m alright, will you?”_

_It was difficult to miss Scott’s grin in his voice as he promised, “I will, Derek.”_

Leaving the place, and going to a home with actual beds and no police uniforms in sight, was beyond refreshing.

“I’m sorry we don’t have any more room,” Clary, Martin’s wife, said. She sounded genuinely apologetic over this fact.

“Oh no, it’s fine, ma’am,” Lydia assured.

Derek heard the real, unspoken meaning behind Lydia’s casual words. None of them wanted to be separated, not after finally escaping. What if Caedmon discovers them during the night? They needed to keep each other in sight, needed the assurance that they were all safe and alive…but no one was actually going to admit to that aloud.

From the way Clary’s eyes twinkled, Derek wouldn’t have been surprised if Clary had suspected their reasoning for staying together from the very beginning. After all, she had a “Mother’s intuition, my dears,” as she had informed them just a few hours ago – apparently, it had been Clary who had chosen their new attire.

To Derek’s upmost surprise, Clay had chosen the perfect outfit for each of them: Stiles had a white Tee and a red plaid (currently unbuttoned) button-up shirt with black Nikes; Lydia had a cream, floral shirt, that was a little baggy, but Derek has a feeling it was meant to be that way, with a dark green skirt and brown ankle boots; Derek himself had a grey shirt and dark blue jeans with black boots. How she managed to pick these outfits out without even seeing them, Derek will never know.

“I’ll just go and make some cookies for you, then. Chocolate chip alright?” When they all three nodded, Clary smiled and exited the room, quietly shutting the door behind her, giving them privacy.

The trio was silent. The quiet stretched on, growing louder and louder in Derek’s ears. His mind wouldn’t shut up; he kept replaying the previous events, wondering what would’ve happened had he still been a werewolf, which caused him to replay the events that led up to his power loss. It was a constant circle.

Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Derek spoke. Trying to keep the conversation light, he said, gratefully, “So we’re going to go home soon.”

“Maybe,” Stiles said quietly; he was slouching in the chair, his eyes closed. “That’s only if Caedmon doesn’t catch us before we get to their airport.”

Lydia went to sit on the bed, “Even if he doesn’t, he’s still going to be a problem, isn’t he?” It was more of a statement that a question.

“Cookies!” Clary’s voice rang. She opened the door and in wafted the savory smell of chocolate chip cookies. “Cookies and milk. I hope you don’t mind, but I took one or two for myself. They’re delicious, just so you know.” With a teasing wink, she placed the tray full of cookies and milk on the night stand, but when she glanced at Stiles, her smile turned to a frown. “My boy, you look dead on your feet. You should rest.”

Derek looked at Stiles, and he really did look bad again. Pale, shivering, sweating. Stiles’ eyes were starting to become color-less again, his golden brown irises turning black. No, wait. Red. His eyes are turning red.

“Yeah, I’m gonna do that,” Stiles murmured. He wobbled to the King sized bed –the only one in the room– and plopped down.

After Cary left, bidding them all goodnight, apologizing again for not having more beds, and dimming the lights, Lydia crawled over and placed Stiles’ head gently in her lap. He hummed when she started running her fingers though his hair. Derek joined them shortly, sitting at the end of the bed, his back resting against the wall. He let his mind wonder for a moment, curious as to why the bed was against the wall rather than in the middle of the room like he’d been expecting. But it wasn’t bad. It was really nice actually. His legs were stretched out all the way and his feet were barely hanging off the bed. They could sleep like this if they wanted to: Stiles curled in Lydia’s lap, Lydia resting with her head on the pillows, and Derek laying at their feet.

“Stiles,” Lydia whispered softly, carding her fingers through his hair. “You know, now would be a good time to tell us the story.”

Stiles was silent for so long that Derek was certain he’d fallen asleep, but soon, Derek heard Stiles’ voice, quiet in the dimmed room.

“I don’t remember everything,” Stiles admitted, talking slowly. “My memories are still…they’re not done showing themselves. I can feel them though. Up here,” he waved vaguely in the direction towards his head. “I remember a few things, like how I’m the first v…” Stiles couldn’t, or maybe just plain refused to, say the word. _Vampire_.

It was several minutes before Stiles spoke again.

“God, it was so long ago. I remember my parents were Druids…or whatever it was called back then. And I remember that some of our enemies… Well, they tricked me. They forced me to…to summon something. A demon, I suppose. I’m not sure who it was. I don’t really remember. Lilith, Ornias, maybe Lucifer himself. I think it was Lilith though.” Stiles took a deep breath. “She…cursed me. Made me this. Made me…” he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ian isn’t – uh, I mean, the sheriff isn’t my father,” he said. “He’s my grandson, actually. My great-great-too-many-fucking-greats-grandson.”

Derek couldn’t help a snort at that. Lydia glared at him.

“So yeah,” Stiles opened his eyes again, but he didn’t seem to be looking at anything. “I’m a fucking vampire. I’m the _first_ fucking vampire.”

No one spoke. They listened to each other’s breathing and the wind whistling outside and the faint noises coming from downstairs – Clary and Martin were watching TV; some sort of weird comedy with humor that really wasn’t funny. Lydia continued stroking Stiles’ hair.

“Why aren’t you…uhm,” Derek paused, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it. “Vampires have this belief that…the older you are, and the more people you’ve killed, the stronger you are…right?”

“That’s right,” Stiles all but whispered.

“So if you’re the first, shouldn’t you be…stronger than Caedmon?”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, I should.” He sighed, “Vampire powers… Think of it like a battery. I’ve been switched to ‘off’ for nearly two decades, and I haven’t been one hundred percent charged yet since I keep draining the energy I get too quickly, so…” he shrugged. “I’m doing more damage to myself than good.”

“How do you get fully charged?” Lydia asked.

For a second, Stiles went completely still. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, “How do you think.”

They fell silent again, each of them lost in their own thoughts. They knew Caedmon would find them. Maybe not tonight, and for Clary and Martin’s sake, Derek hoped it wasn’t tonight, but Caedmon was a thousand-plus-year-old vampire with a vendetta; he’ll find them soon. There was only one thing Derek knew could protect them: Stiles.

“Then you need to drink again,” Derek said. “Until you’re fully charged.”

Stiles immediately sat up and shook his head. “No. No way.”

“Just listen, I have this idea–”

“ _No_ ,” Stiles interrupted. “I know what you’re thinking, Derek, and this answer is no. I might kill you. Either of you. And I’m not going to risk your lives.”

“It’s a greater risk to us if you _don’t_ ,” Lydia countered, taking Derek’s side. “Either we _will_ die or we _might_ die. Personally, I prefer the one with a fighting chance.”

Slowly, Stiles said, “Okay, I see your point, but–”

“No ‘buts’,” Derek cut in. “This is the only way.” After a quick glance at Lydia, he continued, “Drink mine. I don’t have a concussion and my mass is greater. Plus I do still have a bit of werewolf in me; it hasn’t completely faded. I’m the safest bet.”

Stiles bit his lip and gave Derek a once-over, looking uncomfortable at the thought of drinking Derek’s blood again. Finally, he sighed, giving in without further argument.

“It’ll be different this time,” he promised.

Before Derek could ask what he meant, Stiles had already begun to lean forward, one hand snaking around Derek’s neck to draw him in and the other tilting his face. A sharp pain exploded from Derek’s neck and, as he was closing his eyes, he felt Stiles shift closer to him, hovering over his lap as Stiles sucked his blood. Then, Derek closed his eyes and was in another world.

Unlike the last times, Derek didn’t feel the orgasmic pleasure. He didn’t feel anything, not even the wind blowing through the grass and trees. In front of him was a village, and Derek watched as the people mingled around. It was…odd. The atmosphere seemed to be much newer than what Derek was used to. When something ran past him without acknowledgement, Derek realized where he was.

He was in a memory. More specifically, he was in Stiles’ memory. Or, at least, the memory of who-ever-it-was that had been pre-Stiles Stilinski.

The figure who ran past, the man, looked very similar to Stiles. Except, at the same time, he looked completely different from Stiles. For one, he looked older, maybe twenty or twenty-five. Definitely no older than thirty. He was a little taller too; his body a little thicker, his hair a little longer… It could’ve been Stiles’ older brother. He _looked_ like Stiles, just with a few alterations here and there, but he didn’t really act like Stiles. (Derek wasn’t sure how he knew the latter piece of information, considering he only saw the man running…or maybe that was the reason he knew the man didn’t act like Stiles – that boy hates anything involving cardio.)

Derek followed the man. Well, ‘ _followed_ ’would imply that it was a voluntary act. It wasn’t. Derek felt himself being pulled along by the man, but it wasn’t as if Derek was physically _walking_ after him. Derek felt like he was floating, drifting in the breeze.

As the man ran, Derek watched. It was only when he reached the village did he stop. The people looked up at the Stiles-look-a-like, and Derek immediately knew something was wrong. Stanley (because calling the man ‘Stiles-look-a-like’ was far too much of a mouthful, even if it was only in the privacy of Derek’s own mine) began yelling at them. Once again, the language was indecipherable. The people stalked toward Stanley, their hands in placating gestures, but Stanley wasn’t having it. He was backing up, looking as frightened as he was angry. Then, just as Stanley was about to turn and run again, he was jumped from behind.

Derek watched as Stanley was brought down. Derek watched as the people struggled to tie Stanley in a bundle of ropes, then they dragged him thought the village and across the forest. Halfway out of the village, Derek saw a pile of bodies. Men were adding more bodies to the pile. Limp, lifeless. Women, children, men. Upon seeing the pile, Stanley went berserk. He started yelling and screaming; tears streamed down his face. Stanley fought his restraints, and he nearly broke free, but the people rushed to him, added more rope and a gag.

Everything clicked into place. The people did not belong to this village. The people _murdered_ the village. Massacred. Stanley was the only one left.

Derek watched the people conjure a bright light, setting the pile of bodies on fire. Someone started screaming. A few more voices arose, some the high-pitched cries of babies, but the pile remained still. The people could not escape. The fire burned hot and bright, but Derek couldn’t feel its flames.

Stanley went willing, allowed himself to be dragged for miles. The tears never ceased.

It was midday when they finally stopped. A group of women began creating something in the sand, using sticks and a paint-like substance. Derek couldn’t make out what the symbols were, but it was huge. The men tied Stanley to a tree. Once the women were done, they began chanting. Stanley began shouting again; it sounded like he was warning them, protesting against doing…whatever it was they were doing. The men began chanting too, each holding a clay jar that had clotted, red stuff in it. Blood. They poured the blood out onto the symbol. For a few seconds, Derek thought nothing would happen, but then the symbol glowed red.

The light became brighter and brighter until the people had to cover their eyes. On reflex, Derek did the same. When he opened his eyes, his jaw dropped. There, in front of him, was simultaneously the most gorgeous and the most deformed woman he’d ever seen.

The woman was completely naked; her long red hair was her only covering, but that was really stretching the definition. She seemed average height, but the longer Derek watched her, the more he thought she was actually much, much, _much_ taller; his neck felt like he’d been craning it upwards towards the sun for hours. Her skin was the color of burnt amber, and it was pristine – not a blemish in sight. Until you saw her eyes. Her eyes were the color of ice, and, despite being surrounded by flames, she radiated cold.

“Why did you summon me?”

Derek jerked back. _He could understand her_!

A man, presumably the Master, stepped forward and began talking. Derek couldn’t understand a word he said.

“Immortality,” the woman warned, roaming around the symbol, “Is not how you perceive it to be.”

The man started speaking again. His voice was quiet, but firm.

The woman laughed. The sound filled the air, making the people shudder from the drop in temperature. She ran her finger over the symbol and placed it in her mouth, sucking the red off her amber skin.

“Oh, yes, I did enjoy your offering. Human blood is quite savory to me. You even brought a sacrifice,” she nodded to Stanley. “You have everything prepared, don’t you?”

Nodding, the man started to look hopeful. His face fell and hardened at the woman’s next words.

“It’s too bad you did everything wrong.” She stopped walking and stared at the man; her ice-white eyes sent shivers down even Derek’s spine. “You think because you made me your patron that I would grant you immortality? Because you kill _your_ enemies in _my_ name, you think I will do ask you ask?”

The man swallowed nervously, but wisely chose not to speak.

“Lilith answers to no man,” the woman, Lilith, spat. “Let alone to a group of measly humans, hiding behind a power far greater than they can even comprehend.”

The people trembled. One of them, a woman, broke away from the rest of the huddled women. Lilith didn’t even look at her, didn’t even twitch a muscle, but the woman suddenly screamed a terrible, terrible sound as she clutched her head like a war prisoner would clutch his severed arm. When the woman twisted around, Derek stifled a gasp. At first it looked like her body was shrinking, but that wasn’t the case. The woman was literally folding in on herself. Derek could hear the crunching of bones as the woman kept getting smaller and smaller. Blood erupted from her pours until she was just a puddle of mushed blood, skin, and bone.

“As I said,” Lilith said, breaking the silence. “A power far greater than you can even comprehend.”

The man stared at her, too afraid to move.

“Do you know who was at that village?”

When Lilith remained silent, the man jerked his head in a stiff side-to-side motion. Derek didn’t have to understand the language to know the man meant, “No.”

“My daughter, Ciara, was the high priestess.” Lilith paused, letting her words sink in. “The people you killed…were _mine_.”

Death was looming over the heads of these people, Derek didn’t need any sort of supernatural power to sense that. There were about twenty-five, thirty people in this cult, and they were all going to die in horrible, gruesome ways. 

The Master fell onto his knees and began speaking quickly, his tone pleading and sorrowful, but Lilith abruptly cut him off.

“Begging for your life will do you nothing.” She looked at Stanley again. With a flick of her wrist, he was unbound. Immediately, Stanley fell into a bow, whispering words that Derek could only assume were either prayers of adoration or prayers for life or something else entirely. Lilith looked pleased. She turned to the men and women again; her smile was all teeth. “I suggest you run.”

Apparently, the cult members had brains after all, for run they did; they scattered in different directions, scrambling over each other, trying to be the furthest away from the demon. No one looked back.

“Look at me, my child,” Lilith gently said when the people had disappeared.

Slowly, Stanley looked up.

Derek shuddered; Lilith’s eyes had softened and her smile was warm and genuine now.

“Will you be my Champion?” she asked, her voice flowing like silk. “Will you avenge my daughter? Your family?”

_‘No!’_ Derek tried to shout. _‘Don’t do it! Stiles, don’t do it!’_

Past-Stiles took a deep breath. When he answered, Derek understood his words perfectly.

“I will be you Champion, my Mistress.” 

x~X~x

When Derek cried out and collapsed, Lydia couldn’t stifle her gasp. Involuntarily, she reached out her hand, as if she could stop Derek’s fall with her mind. Derek didn’t have a long fall – Stiles was still hovering over Derek’s lap with his arms around Derek’s shoulder and head. As Derek collapsed into unconsciousness, Stiles kept his hold on Derek, making sure the former werewolf didn’t hit his head on the wall behind him.

“Is he okay?” Lydia whispered. _One hour_ , she kept thinking. _One hour, one fucking hour, one whole fucking hour_.

“He’ll be fine,” Stiles answered, wiping Derek’s blood off his chin, smearing it across his face and forearm. Stiles then took Derek in his arms, carrying like a (very limp) newlywed bride, and shuffled on his knees toward Lydia. Carefully, he laid Derek down with his head on the pillows and began straightening out Derek’s arms and legs.

Lydia pressed the back of her hand against Derek’s forehead. “He’s really clammy,” she noted.

Stiles finished positioning Derek’s body. “Don’t worry.”

“And he’s barely breathing.”

“He’ll be fine,” Stiles repeated. He took a deep breath in and exhaled it slowly.

“His lips are turning blue, Stiles. It’s hyperbolic–”

“Lydia!” Stiles snapped. Lydia’s jaw automatically closed as she flinched away. Stiles looked down in shame. When he looked back up, his blood-stained lips twitched into a sad, apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he whispered. Slowly, Stiles put a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “But don’t worry, Lyds. I got this.”

Lydia gave a small smile. “I know, Stiles.”

Bringing his hands together, blue mist formed in his palms again. When the mist began crawling up and curling around Stiles’ wrists and arms, Stiles carefully brought down his hands and placed them on Derek’s chest. The blue mist sank into Derek’s body.

“Come on,” Stiles whispered. “ _Come on_.”

Five tense seconds passed by, neither Stiles nor Lydia dared to make a sound.

Derek gasped awake – he arched off the bed and his eyelids flew open while his hands were splayed out by his sides, fingers stiff. Rather than being met with the normal moss green, Derek’s eyes glowed electric blue, the same color as the mist that entered him. Frozen, Derek took in a deep, ragged breath, still in his arch. Then, the blue faded and he collapsed, his body limp once more.

“Thank God,” Stiles breathed out. He covered Derek with the thick blankets. “Derek will be fine,” he said, turning to Lydia with a smile lighting his face. The blood was gone; there was no trace of anything deviant that had happened just a few minutes ago. “He’ll be perfectly alright.”

The tension eased from Lydia’s shoulders and she acted without thinking. After everything they’ve been through these past few nights, Lydia could think of no better way to show her gratitude…or her trust. One moment she had been watching Stiles save Derek’s life, and the next moment Lydia was kissing that miraculous, amazing boy.

She almost couldn’t believe it. It was just like that bathroom kiss, and yet it was completely different at the same time. For one, Lydia wrapped her arms around Stiles’ shoulders, and Stiles did the same with her waist. As soon as Lydia’s lips touched his, there was absolutely no hesitation on Stiles’ part; Lydia felt his lips move with hers and, to her surprise, heard his moan of pleasure. When they pulled back, gasping for breath, Stiles moved in again almost immediately, using his hand to cradle Lydia’s cheek. It went slower this time, Stiles pressing Lydia down until she was laying prone. The kisses slowed, becoming more relaxed as they opened themselves up to the other. Their eyes were only half-closed and they gazed at each other under their heavy lids. The sensations started to overwhelm Lydia and she felt herself become tingly and wet; she felt Stiles harden and grow desperate, making soft keening noises and moving his hips in a slow rotation.

“Wait,” Lydia whispered, putting a hand between her mouth and Stiles’.

“What?” he whispered back, his golden brown eyes blown wide and his hair moussed from her hands.

Lydia couldn’t contain a giggle. If he looked like that after barely doing anything, she wondered how he’d looked when he was thoroughly debauched. She couldn’t wait to find out.

“What is it?” Stiles repeated, his head tilted to the side. He was smiling.

“Nothing, nothing,” Lydia said quickly. “It’s just, well, Derek’s still in the bed.”

Stiles blinked and looked over to the still-unconscious body. “Oh.” When Lydia giggled again, he turned to her and said, playfully, “You started it.”

Biting her lip, Lydia smiled slyly. “Yeah, I did.” A thought occurred to her and she dropped the coy grin. “Is that okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah,” Stiles replied. He moved to lay on his side beside her; they hugged the edge of the bed, putting as much distance between them and Derek as possible. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

For a second, Lydia contemplated just dismissing the whole thing, brushing it off like it was nothing…but she knew if she wanted this to turn into a real thing, a real _relationship_ , and she really, really wanted it to be one, then they had to talk about it eventually. No time like the present, right?

“…Malia.”

Stiles was silent, but when Lydia looked at him, she only saw confusion in his face. “What about her? What’s she got to do with…with us?”

“Everything!” Lydia turned so she was now on her side, facing Stiles. “She likes you, Stiles. A lot. And you like her, I know you do.”

Stiles started to say, “Well, yeah I like her,” in that ‘ _duh_ ’ tone, so Lydia cut him off.

“I mean _like_ -like her. As in, crush.”

“I know what you mean, Lydia,” Stiles said laughing. Lydia’s heart skipped a few beats, unsure why he was being so joyful. “I’ve been around for quite a while, you know, so I kinda understand how this whole ‘crush’ thing works.” He became serious and Lydia’s heart stilled, certain Stiles’ next words would change everything – for good or for worse.

“But Lydia, I also know what it means to have more. To _want_ more. I know what it means to love someone. Unbridled, wild, anchored, safe. I know how love feels, Lydia, and it’s so much more…” he paused, as if searching for a word to follow after ‘more’ and knowing that there wasn’t a word because love was more of _everything_ “…more than anything you can imagine.”

Lydia swallowed. She never heard anything like that in her entire life. No conversation had ever held such emotion or ever dripped with such truth. “…Love?” Lydia whispered, her voice shaking and cracking from becoming so dry.

“Yeah. Love.” Stiles moved a strand of hair out of Lydia’s face. “I’ve only felt like this once before. Just once, and I wasn’t even me when I felt like that. I was a completely different person.” Scrunching his face, Stiles asked, “Uh, does that make any sense?”

Lydia laughed, grateful to see a bit of human Stiles, who makes weird faces and has doubts. “It makes sense.” She brought her hand up to hold his. “I’ve always liked you, you know,” Lydia confessed. “Even in middle school.”

Stiles blinked a few times, as he digested the information. “Really?”

“But I was more jealous of you than anything else.” Lydia traced Stiles’ jawline; part of her was still in such awe that she’s actually friends with Stiles now, let alone having just kissed him and having this conversation with him.

Stiles squinted his eyes, and parted his lips slightly, confusion coloring his entire visage. “Jealous? You… Y _ou_ were jealous of _me_? Why?”

Lydia flattened her palm, cupping Stiles’ face. “Because you weren’t afraid to be yourself. You were this smart, dorky kid, and you owned it. You’ve always owned it.”

“I’m not much of a dorky kid anymore, though,” he said smiling, his voice playfully cocky.

Feeling brave, Lydia said, “No, you’re more of a sexy vampire.”

For a second, Stiles face was completely passive, but then he broke out into a grin and Lydia could feel her heart beating faster at his next words. “Well, this sexy vampire is in love with you, Lydia Martin.”

“And I’m in love with a smart, dorky, sexy vampire,” she whispered, bringing her lips up to his once again. “And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

x~X~x

His body felt so heavy. It was an anchor, sinking him further and further into the abyss. Yet his head was a cloud, drifting him higher and higher into the atmosphere. He was drowning and floating and floating and drowning all at the same time. His head pounded and every thought echoed painfully; he wouldn’t have been surprised if there were little dwarfs mining for diamonds and singing “Heigh Ho” loud and entirely off-key in his skull.

When he finally got up the courage to open his eyes, the light burned, causing his headache to flare up again. After several painful seconds of blinking and burning and blinking and burning, Derek finally started feeling like a human again. Kinda.

After all he’s been through –being kidnapped by Kate, who took his werewolf powers, leaving him completely vulnerable and humiliated, and then being kidnapped by vampires, who took not only him, but Stiles and Lydia as well, and it was all Derek’s fault, _and then_ being completely mind blown by Stiles, who turned out to be a thousand-plus-year-old vampire with magic powers and, in order to keep living, needed to suck the life out of Derek in the most literal way– Derek found it difficult to pinpoint what ‘human’ was even supposed to feel like.

He could probably come up with some metaphors. Bing human felt like the having the sun on your face and the wind at your back. Being human felt like having not a care in the world while sunbathing on the beach. Being human felt like walking across a lane of Legos while people threw spitballs at you. (Were those even metaphors? Or were they similes? Derek always had trouble distinguishing between those two.)

While lying in bed, thinking about what a normal human would do in one situation or another, something clicked in Derek’s brain. It was one of those “Eureka!” moments that only occurs when a person thinks of everything (or very intently on one specific thing like Derek had been doing) but the subject of the epiphany.

Caedmon had said he needed Lydia’s blood; more specifically, the blood of a _banshee_. When the murders first started, all the victims had been left unmarred except for the slashes across their wrists and, of course, the lack of blood in their body. Also, all the victims had been different blood types. Once all the blood types had been taken however, the victims started being found completely shredded and disemboweled, sometimes with large chunks missing and teeth marks around the gaping holes. (All according to Stiles, who had somehow convinced his father to tell him all this, of course.)

It would’ve been so much easier had the pack not gotten involved. Expect that would never have happened. Scott wasn’t the type of Alpha to let something slide. No one in the pack, not Kira or Liam or Stiles or Lydia or even Derek himself would’ve let the murderers go free. (Malia might have, but she’s been getting better at being a more decent human being – and, oh hey look, there’s that human question again.) Even if they’d known that searching for the murderers would’ve caused this huge ordeal, they still would’ve gone after them.

But why come to Beacon Hills? Surely there are other banshees in other parts of the globe, even England, where the vampire coven (though they still didn’t know how many vampires were included in this coven) resided. Meaning, the vampires had to have come to Beacon Hills for another reason.

Didn’t Caedmon say something about the Stilinksi family? Somehow, he must’ve known Stiles and his dad resided in Beacon Hills. Looking up “Stilinski” in a phonebook or the Internet isn’t that difficult… The reasoning makes sense; the vampires, specifically Caedmon, had wanted to kill two birds with one stone. They were probably going to try and find the Demon (AKA Stiles, though no one knew that, not even Stiles) by mixing Stilinksi blood with banshee blood.

Derek seethed. Just because their plan backfired, didn’t mean the intent had just disappeared. Had the vampires gotten their way, in the way they probably expected it to go, Lydia, because she never would’ve agreed to become a vampire under Caedmon, would be dead somewhere, laying in a dirty alley, drained of blood. Her body would be stark white with blotches of black and purple bruises, most likely resembling handprints in order to hold her down while they…

Derek couldn’t finish the thought.

Then there’d be Stiles and the Sheriff. Whatever Caedmon had done to their ancestors, he’d definitely do to them too. He’d take their blood, but wouldn’t stop there. Derek’s sure Caedmon wouldn’t be against eating Stiles and his dad alive, amongst other things Derek also refused to think about.

Needing to stop his imagination (and make sure Lydia and Stiles were still alive), Derek propped himself up by his elbows and turned his head to see if his companions were alive.

They were, but they certainly weren’t awake.

Stiles and Lydia were sleeping peacefully. They were almost one being entirely, the way their legs were entangled (they’d fallen asleep on top of the covers) and their arms embraced the other. Lydia’s face was pressed against Stiles’ chest, right under his chin. They fit so perfectly together, as if this was always meant to be. Derek didn’t want to wake them now.

A soft voice said, “Good morning, Derek.”

“Shit,” Derek cursed quietly. “Sorry, Stiles. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t; I wasn’t asleep.” Stiles didn’t turn to face Derek, but, considering the way he and Lydia were wrapped up, Derek understood. He now noticed Stiles slowly petting Lydia’s hair.

“Is that a vampire thing? Never sleeping?” Derek asked.

Stiles chuckled softly. “No. No, we don’t really _need_ to sleep, but we still have the ability to. It’s not usually for very long, but we like sleep.” He paused before saying, “Well, I do at least.”

“Oh, okay.” Derek wasn’t sure what to say now. What do you say to your never-verbally-acknowledged-kinda-sorta-friend-who-was-now-a-blood-sucking-leech?

Stiles, on the other hand, had a question. “What were you thinking about? Before?”

Derek hesitated, wondering, for only a split second, if he should really tell Stiles his musings, but it seemed completely absurd not to say the truth, so Derek did. He explained his epiphany –the reason why Caedmon came to Beacon Hills and why he wanted banshee blood –all while asking a silent question, “ _This does seem plausible, right? I haven’t just completely lost my mind, right?_ ”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Stiles said. Something in his voice had changed – Derek knew it had something to do with what he mentioned about mixing Stilinski and banshee blood together.

“Stiles…” Derek paused, wondering if he should ask Stiles what happened to his family –his other family, the ancestors that Caedmon had mentioned– but, ultimately, Derek decided against it; if Stiles wanted to share, he would. Instead, Derek asked, “Stiles, how did you know I was awake?”

“Your heartbeat,” Stiles answered after a bout silence that was just a pinch too long; Derek wouldn’t have been surprised if Stiles had guessed what Derek had originally intended on asking. “And your scent. You suddenly became very angry.”

_It’s his super-heightened senses_ , Derek thought.

“Yeah, it is.”

Well, Derek thought he said it within the confines of his own mind.

“…Derek? Can…Can I tell you something?” Stiles questioned softly.

Derek swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very dry.

“S-Sure.”

Derek was half-afraid of what Stiles’ next words would be, though he knew there was no reason to feel scared. But here, in the safety and comfort of this room, and with Stiles’ back turned away from him so no eye contact could be made… Stiles could ask Derek anything and he would probably answer it. Derek felt vulnerable and exposed all over again.

“I’m sorry about your werewolf powers.”

That…was not something Derek expected to hear. Sure, it was on his list of possible questions – somewhere near the very bottom of his list. There was nothing else Derek could think to say except: “It’s not your fault.”

“I know,” Stiles said solemnly. He took a deep breath, and Derek knew that there’d be more words. “And I know it’s been really hard for you, especially now that I–” Stiles abruptly cut himself off, not finishing his sentence: _Now that I have heightened senses like a werewolf_. For his credit, Stiles managed to glide over his mistake with ease, something he could never have done when he (thought he was) human.

Clearing his throat, Stiles continued, “But I just wanted you to know that I think you’ve been doing a great job. You’ve become really handy with a gun and you’re happier now that you’re with Braedon and,” Stile paused again, probably realizing he was getting off topic.

Derek remained silent, knowing there was a point Stiles was trying to make even if Stiles had no idea how to make it just yet. Derek could wait. He could be patient

“And…” Stiles took a deep breath. “And I think I know how we can get him back.”

Derek’s voice was barely above a whisper. “…Him?”

“Your wolf. The source of your powers.”

Derek blinked. The first few seconds after the words hit his ears, he felt nothing. Thought nothing. And then, right as the clock’s second hand ticked three times, Derek felt and thought _everything_.

His body was suddenly five times heavier; his organs were shriveling up and turning to dust – dust that was yearning to return to the earth from whence it came. His emotions caught up with his brain, but Derek could barely keep up with his emotions.

(Stiles could probably sense every one of them, the eavesdropping bastard.)

First was definitely disbelief.

Derek couldn’t have _actually_ heard that. Stiles must’ve said something else. He had to have. Because the statement was impossible. Completely impossible. Completely…right?

Then it was confusion mixed with hope.

But was it really impossible? Or did Derek actually hear what he thought he heard? What he wished he heard? Could he really become whole again? Become Derek Hale again?

The last decipherable emotion was fear.

What if Derek didn’t hear it correctly? What if he was fretting and stressing over something Stiles hadn’t actually said? What if he can never be his true self ever again?

After that, Derek’s emotions crumpled together and rolled around in his heart like a heavy lead ball. It kept adding different emotions, disregarding a few, and then picking them back up.

_I can have my powers back?_ Derek kept thinking over and over again. _I can have my wolf back?_ He tried to keep his hands from shaking and his heart from racing, but it wasn’t working.

“R-Really?” he asked, and, _fuck_ ,even his voice was quivering.

“Yes,” Stiles replied softly, his voice reassuring. “I can get your powers back.”

Derek took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“H-How?”

Dammit! The deep breath didn’t work.

“I’ll need to find some supplies. Ingredients. Most are going to be near-impossible to get…but I have a way with herbs.”

The way Stiles said the last part, equal parts of cockiness and playfulness, caused Derek to huff with silent laughter.

“I never thought I’d hear you say anything like _that_.” Derek shook his head, still in slight disbelief that this conversation was happening, “Never.”

“Yeah, well… Times are changing.” Stiles sounded more somber now.

“…Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Derek sucked at his teeth, wondering if he really wanted to ask the question. “Are you… What are you going to tell Scott? When we get back?”

Silence filled the room. After several minutes, Derek heard Stiles swallow nervously.

“I don’t know.”

x~X~x

Lydia awoke feeling surprisingly refreshed, incredibly cheerful, and completely famished. Also: pleasantly warm.

“Good morning,” Stiles whispered in her ear. His breath sent shivers down Lydia’s spine.

“Morning,” she replied, grinning wildly and stretching out the kinks in her back. “I’m starving.”

“Martin and Clary have food downstairs.” Stiles continued watching her, drinking up her presence as if she’d disappear if he didn’t watch her. “Derek went down about half an hour ago.”

Lydia hummed, liking Stiles’ eyes on her. “What time is it?”

“I have no idea,” Stiles laughed. “Let’s just say it’s breakfast time.”

“That works for me.” Lydia frowned slightly, wondering why Stiles didn’t have morning breath. Her frown increased when she realized _she_ probably had morning breath.

Stiles wasn’t perturbed by her frown – he probably didn’t even notice.

“Come on!” he said, leaping out of bed, over Lydia’s prone body.

Upon landing on his feet, Stiles turned around and took hold of Lydia’s hand, pulling her up. She flew into his arms; Stiles gripped her waist and twirled her around, turning her surprised shriek into jubilant giggles. Morning breath was long forgotten.

“I have a good feeling about today,” Lydia told him as they climbed down the stairs hand-in-hand.

“Do you?” Stiles asked, arching an eyebrow.

Lydia leaned in to give Stiles a quick, chaste kiss, “Absolutely.” She made a quick departure, before Stiles could grab her by the waist and pull her into him again, by turning the corner to walk into the kitchen.

“Oh there you two are!” Clary said cheerfully. Her smile was kind and motherly and it seemed like she knew just what had happened right outside the kitchen. “I’ve got French Toast, bacon, eggs, hash browns, quiche, sausage, ham…”

Clary kept listing things, pointing to each item with her spatula. Martin was pretending to read the paper, but Lydia noticed how his eyes were on his wife and how his mouth was curled up in a loving smile. Derek sat at the table across from Martin, eating a plateful of all sorts of breakfast-like delectables. 

The scene was nice. Homey. Lydia had a vision of her and Stiles sitting at a table like this. Food would be everywhere (though Lord only knows who would’ve cook it) along with a couple of grandkids, who would be shoveling everything down their throats because it’s just _that good_ and they can’t wait to start their day with their grandparents.

(It was a nice dream; it lasted all of breakfast, and a few hours in the car too.)

Breakfast was perfect. Lydia and Stiles smiled coyly at each other across the table, winking and grinning and seeing who would lose their game of footsie first; Clary told them how she and Martin met, all while piling more food on their plates; Martin entertained them with war stories after telling his version of how he met Clary; and Derek listened, asking questions here and there, but mainly eating and seeming much happier and much more relaxed than Lydia had seen him in a long time.

When their escorts to the airport knocked on Martin and Clay’s door, the five of them had moved to the living room. They were playing Monopoly and Lydia had been beating everyone’s asses into the ground so hard it was criminal. Lydia loved Monopoly.

“You be sure to give us a call,” Clary said, her accent even thicker than her husband’s when she was trying not to cry.

“Be safe, kids,” Martin said, tears hiding behind his eyes too.

“We’ll call as soon as we can,” Lydia promised.

Stiles patted his jeans. “The number’s right here, safe and tucked away.”

“And don’t you lose that.” Clary shook a finger twice at Stiles before reaching out and pulling him into a hug. She whispered something in his ear that made Stiles’ face turn beat red as he pulled away. Then, Clary pulled Lydia into a hug. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Martin letting go of Derek and reaching for Stiles.

“Now you’ve got an amazing man right there,” Clary whispered. “Don’t you let him go, or I’ll have to beat you with my spatula.”

Lydia pulled back. She glanced at Stiles, who was still blushing, and said, “I don’t ever plan on letting him go.”

Stiles heard her and his blush darkened, but he was grinning too.

“I’ll miss you, kiddo,” Martin said, hugging Lydia now. (Clary was hugging Derek, whispering something to him too, but he didn’t blush, just smiled widely.) “Don’t forget to call.”

“We will,” they all promised solemnly.

And with that, they all got in the car.

The two officers made a bit of small talk, mainly to tell their names and a little bit about themselves and the town, but it was mostly the radio that kept the car ride from becoming too quiet.

Lydia replayed the morning’s (and bit of the afternoon’s) events in her mind again. She was going to treasure this day for the rest of her life, and when she was Clary’s age, she would remember today and…

And…

No.

No, she couldn’t. _He_ couldn’t. He’d never be able to.

The glass in Lydia’s mind shattered. Reality stained her thoughts.

Vampire. Stiles was a _vampire_.

Lydia’s chest tightened. She needed to move. To breathe. She was too cramped in this car.

No, no, no.

Stiles would never age. He’d never grow old. Never. While Lydia would be greying and wrinkling and losing her memory, Stiles would still look like this: young.

_“I’ve been around for quite a while, you know,”_ he had said. _“I know what it means to love someone.”_

Lydia wasn’t the first. She wasn’t the first and she won’t be the last either. There were girls (guys?) before her; they’d still be there after.

And, of course, it’s when Lydia’s world was crashing down around her that Caedmon finally found them.

x~X~x

Something was wrong.

Stiles turned to Lydia frowning, about to ask if she was okay, knowing she wasn’t, but not understanding why, when everything turned upside down.

(Thankfully, the car didn’t literally turn upside down.)

It all happened so instantaneously, it was only because of his heightened senses that Stiles could even understand what was going on.

As Stiles turned, he caught sight of a blur. It was heading straight for the car. When it impacted, seconds later, it hit the driver’s window (which was on the wrong side since this was England and all). Jeffery, which was the driver’s name, died instantly; Stiles heard his neck snap. Luis screamed, but it was cut off when the car swerved into a tree. He was still alive for the time being, though Stiles could feel Luis’ life draining slowly.

Squatting between the driver’s and the passenger’s seats was Caedmon. He wore dirty, tattered clothes with mud and blood smudged all over his face and arms. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were dilated.

Stiles knew what had happened to him; one of the most dangerous and deadliest things that could ever happen to a vampire (except, of course, having your head chopped off or being burned alive). Because everything was so sharp and clear –vision, scent, touch, taste, hearing– if a vampire were to become fixated on something, be it a person or an idea, then, unless someone could un-focus their fixation in time, the vampire would fall into this frenzy. All they could see and hear and taste would be that thing. That person. That mission.

Vampires call it the Twitch, because the vampire would lose control of certain nerves, usually the eye and/or fingers. Caedmon was no different.

“I found you,” he hissed; his right eye twitched incessantly and his fingers kept moving, as if he were typing on a keyboard. “I told you. I told I’d find you. I found you.”

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Derek asked in horror; his lips barley moved.

Instead of answering him, Stiles tensed his muscles in preparation. Caedmon clearly noticed, but, because of the Twitch, his reaction time was much too slow. Thank God.

In one swift motion, Stiles unbuckled his seatbelt and dove for Caedmon, using all of his strength, forcing them to both go through the car’s windshield. Stiles’ goal had been to land on top of Caedmon, hopefully with a rock perfectly positioned under the bastard’s head, but, of course, nothing would ever be that easy. Somehow, Caedmon managed to twist their positions in midair, and, because Stiles had such amazing luck, it turned out there _was_ a perfectly positioned rock.

It hurt like a son of a bitch.

“Stiles!” Lydia shouted. She and Derek had gotten out of the car, but now there were bigger problems. Caedmon’s coven.

But no, that couldn’t be right. It was daylight. Many of these vampires were under a century old; they’d burn up in ten seconds flat. It could only be possible if there was a…

Oh.

Oh, that’s right.

A solar eclipse. Stiles had completely forgotten about the solar eclipse.

Had there been time, Stiles would’ve given himself a thorough beating. Unfortunately, or maybe it was _fortunately_ , he didn’t have the time.

Lydia and Derek were back to back, fending off the vampires with large branches they’d picked up off the ground. Somehow, the ends were lit on fire. It was a god try, but Stiles knew that the fire would only buy them a few minutes. Not nearly enough. The only way for this to end would be for Stiles to end Caedmon. For good.

Stiles hated fighting. Not the dodging blows or taunting the enemy or even playing “hide and seek” kind of fight – those were all fair game. But actual, physical _fighting_. Using the entirety of his vampire strength… Stiles knew no one else had a snowball’s chance in hell against him. Where was the fun in always winning if there was no challenge? (Although, when he had first became a vampire, he loved that aspect, but, over the many, many years, it had lost its lustering appeal). That was why he would always hold back or just plain disappear in the past.

But Stiles couldn’t afford to do that now. He couldn’t just slip away and hide himself with his magic. Protect Lydia and Derek – that was his concern.

With a deep breath, Stiles dropped his guise. His eyes turned blood red, his fingernails turned into claws, and his teeth became rows of poison-filled needles. Rolling onto his feet, Stiles faced Caedmon. There was a moment of stillness between the two of them. Then Caedmon rushed at Stiles, yelling like a mad man.

Stationary, unflinching, Stiles opened his mouth.

He’d only done this twice before. The first time was right after Lilith had turned him, and although it had been a different body with a different brain and a different pair of ears and a different set of eyes, Stiles could still remember the looks on the people’s faces. He could still hear their screams. But what Stiles remembered most vividly was how much he had enjoyed watching them in pain. How much he had enjoyed _giving_ the pain. (Afterward, Lilith had told him that he could only use the power in dire circumstances; doing it once was fine, but if he did it consecutively, especially without waiting a few years in between each time, he could put himself into a coma.)

The second time was during a cold, harsh winter. Stiles couldn’t remember the exact dates, but he knew it had been during battle between vampires and werewolves in which the vampires were losing – and just the fact that those stupid, pre-teen books had been right, that there was _actually_ a feud between the two species made Stiles want to either laugh or cry; he wasn’t exactly sure which feeling was stronger. During that battle, he had screamed for so long, Stiles couldn’t speak for a month. He remembered blacking out after the last werewolf had fallen and waking up three days later to Yaroslava’s gentle touch and sharp brown eyes.

What came out of Stiles’ mouth wasn’t so much of a scream, but a piercing, gnarring bellow. The kind that came from the deepest pits of hell. The kind that would belong to a demon. To Lilith’s Champion.

Everyone froze. Stopped. No breeze, no breath, no noise. Only stillness. As if the entire world had taken a sharp, deep gasp and was waiting to release it.

Caedmon’s coven became statues, staring at Stiles in terrified reverence. Some had even fallen to their knees. Their Master, however, had no such reaction. He was doubled over, huddling close to the ground and clutching his head as if he were trying to rip it off. (Stiles witnessed that once. The body had stumbled a few steps backward before collapsing into a bloody heap next to its severed head.) Thick, red liquid poured out of Caedmon’s ears and eyes. The blood flooded out of Caedmon, as if it knew that the body hosting it was not the right one.

“Get up,” Stiles said; his cold, demanding tone was the only sound for miles. When Caedmon didn’t move, he yelled it. Birds flew out of the trees, cawing loudly as they fled the scene.

Immediately, Caedmon scrambled to his feet, his face, neck, and hands coated in blood. His face was blank, but Stiles could smell his fear; thick and sweet and raw. Stiles had to pause in order to swallow his nausea.

When he spoke again, his voice was soft. “Now, do you understand why I hid? Why I gave you the chance to _live_?”

Against his will, Stiles found himself pitying Caedmon. The bastard had no idea, no idea what he’d been battling against. Stiles didn’t even know until last night – drinking Derek’s blood, allowing him to wonder into Stiles’ mind, caused the trapped memories to rise to the surface. All Caedmon wanted was to be was as feared and revered as the Demon.

But Stiles didn’t have the luxury to pity. And he definitely couldn’t pity Caedmon. He had killed innocent people in Beacon Hills. He had massacred Stiles’ family, Ian’s parents and sister, Ian’s great-great aunt (the list could go on and on). He tried to kill Stiles’ friends.

Stiles’ voice turned hard once again.

“It’s the same reason why I never join you in your pathetic vendettas. Why I never battled against my own kind unless absolutely necessary.” He paused, turning to look at Caedmon’s coven. “I _own_ you. Every single one of you. It was _my_ venom that created you and it is _my_ voice that can kill you. Lilith chose me to start this powerful race, so don’t piss me off.” Stiles stopped, making sure all the vampires’ attention was on him. “You are not to touch those humans. Not a handshake, not a kiss, and _not_ a bite. Find a new coven to join. Or band together and make your own. I don’t care. But you must abide by our rules.

“Find a territory and mark it; any human that crosses into it at night is yours. Don’t mingle with the other supernatural creatures. Don’t seek them out, don’t start a war; I won’t come running to save your asses. Don’t be discovered, because then I _will_ come running, and you don’t want to know how I deal with those kinds of messes.

“And do something with your lives,” Stiles concluded, allowing a margin of pity to enter his voice. These people had no idea what they had been getting into, it wasn’t their fault they were being led by an idiot. “There was a time when nearly all those with money and great influence were our kind. We used to hold so much power. Let’s not taint our legacy, shall we? Now leave.”

Caedmon’s coven disappeared within seconds.

“Whoa,” Lydia breathed. She looked around in disbelief.

Derek, too, had disbelief etched on his features, but it wasn’t because of how quickly the vampires had fled. “I never knew you were such a great motivational speaker, Stiles.”

Stiles flashed an easy grin at Derek, but when he turned back to Caedmon, it was gone. “And now. You.”

“I…I’m sorry,” Caedmon breathed nervously. His fingers still twitched.

“No, you’re not.” Stiles let his eyes turn back to golden brown. His fangs retracted and his fingernails became short subs again. “You’re too far gone to be sorry.”

Caedmon tilted his head in consideration. “You’re right,” he said. He leaped into the air, fangs bared, heading right to Stiles’ throat.

Stiles would never ever admit it, but he had barely put his hands up in time. Had he been half a second later, had his magic not been instantaneous, Stiles would’ve been dead. But Stiles was still breathing, so there was no reason to dwell on the fact that his life, his past and possible future, flashed before his eyes. No one had to know.

Caedmon was thrown back and pinned to the nearest tree; daggers simmering in electric blue had embedded in his hands, feet, and stomach. They kept glowing brighter and brighter.

“I gave you a chance. Remember that,” Stiles breathed quietly. He stepped forward. “Be glad I’m not going to give you the same treatment you gave to my sons and daughters.”

Caedmon started screaming – not because of pain, but because of raw fury.

An electric blue orb formed in Stiles’ palm. It flew from Stiles and into Caedmon’s mouth. As the light forced its way into the vampire’s mouth, Caedmon’s fury transformed into anguish. Cracks formed on his face. They slowly crept down his body, light shining through each line.

“It’s over,” Stile said, his voice strangely dry. “He can’t escape that.”

Heart flared on his shoulder – Derek had placed his hand there. Lydia slipped her hand into his and she squeezed reassuringly. They didn’t move. When Caedmon’s body exploded, unable to take the light any longer, the trio didn’t even flinch. 

Several minutes later, Lydia carefully asked, “Stiles… What did he do to your family? To your sons and daughters?”

Slowly, Stiles looked at her, his eyes speaking more than his mouth ever could. “He…”

But Stiles stopped, unable to continue. Instead, he leaned against Lydia, resting his head against her shoulder. Lydia brought her other hand up and curled her fingers though his hair.

x~X~x

Derek couldn’t believe it was over. It was over and they were alive and he had a chance at getting his powers back. It didn’t seem possible. None of it seemed possible.

Something began wailing in the background. At first, it was quiet and soft, but it soon became loud and harsh.

It took Derek a few seconds to realize the wailing was sirens.

“Someone called the cops?” Lydia asked in confusion.

“Oh my God.” Stiles jerked his head to the side, shock and understanding coloring his voice. “Luis!”

Suddenly, Stiles was by the wrecked police car, holding Luis’ hand.

Derek and Lydia rushed over to join Stiles. Miraculously, Luis was still alive; his eyes were barely open and he was bleeding profusely from his stomach, but he was still alive. (It might’ve been because the crushed hood of the car was holding him together – they hadn’t hit the tree head-on, but at an angle on his side.) Hopefully, Luis hadn’t seen the vampires and what Stiles had done, but even if he had seen it, he probably hadn’t understood what had been going on.

The sirens kept getting louder.

“What are we supposed to tell them?” Derek asked, turning to Stiles. After all, he was the thousand-plus-year-old vampire, surely Stiles would know what to do.

Stiles looked up at Derek, his eyes widening. “That… Uh, that…” he floundered.

Derek sighed. Stiles was still Stiles, despite being a thousand-plus-year-old vampire. He still needed more time than thirty seconds to come up with a _good_ plan.

“That we were attacked by our kidnappers, but they ran off at the sound of the sirens,” Lydia determined.

That was why Stiles and Lydia made a good team; she comes up with plans he couldn’t, and he comes up with plans that she couldn’t.

“Short, sweet, to the point. Sounds good,” Derek nodded. The he thought of something and groaned. “Our flight is going to be delayed, isn’t it?”

Lydia grimaced. “Probably.”

“Just great,” Derek sighed.

x~X~x

To no one’s surprise, but everyone’s disappointment, their flight was delayed.

For two days.

Two whole fucking days.

The only good news was that they were able to stay with Clary and Martin again.

After going to the police station again and doing the entire process _all over again_ –poking, prodding, answering questions, doing a psych evaluation, answering more questions, giving away his clothes _again_ – Derek, Lydia, and Stiles were finally done. They called Scott again to tell him that they were going to be late, but because the police officers were in the room, they weren’t able to say much.

As they left the room with Clary and Martin, who were going to take them to the mall to get more clothes, Derek heard Detective Inspector Millings, as his nameplate said, talking on the phone to a Sheriff Stilinski.

“Your son and his friends have been through two very traumatic ordeals, Sherriff Stilinski. I would suggest having them see a psychologist…”

Derek glanced over at Stiles, who rolled his eyes and nodded back, indicating he heard it too.

During their amazing shopping spree (according to both Lydia and Clary), after Clary had picked out a handful of clothes for Derek, Derek told Martin he’d pay them back once they returned to the states.

“Oh, there no need for that,” Clary said as she held up a graphic tee to Stiles’ chest. She frowned and put the shirt back.

“We’re old, son,” Martin stated as if this would come as a surprise to Derek. He handed his wife another graphic tee, which Clary approved of this time. “We don’t do much except spoil our grandkids; this is no issue.”

“But–”

“ _But_ nothing,” Clary said sternly. “We’re doing this because you three need clothes, and the most exciting thing we’ve done in years is skip Sunday church to be first in line at the opening of the new bakery.”

Martin handed over yet another graphic tee (Stiles would have _four_ of them if this one was approved) and added, “Which was seven years ago.”

“You wouldn’t want to take away our excitement now, would you?” Clary turned to Derek, holding the rejected graphic tee in her hands; it said, “ _The difference between pizza and your opinion is that I asked for pizza_.”

Derek tried to hide it, but a smile was forming on his lips. “No, ma’am.”

Clary gave a short, curt nod. “Good,” she said, also unable to hold back her smile. Then she handed the apparently-not-rejected shirt to Stiles. “These should be enough shirts and pants for you; alright, guys, who’s hungry?”

They ended up going to the bakery where Clary and Martin played hooky from Sunday church that one time seven years ago. It was delicious.

x~X~x

Stiles didn’t want to leave. He was safe here. Lydia, Derek, Martin, Clary… He was really going to miss this dynamic. Sure, Martin and Clary had no clue what he really was, but Lydia and Derek did, and they didn’t care. They acted the same as always.

Okay, well not _exactly_ the same. For one, Derek now knew Stiles’ past quite intimately, considering he’d been in Stiles’ head for an hour. Stiles doesn’t think Derek even realized just how much he now knew about Stiles – even if he couldn’t cognitively remember it all, the information was _all_ there in Derek’s mind. The thought doesn’t terrify or anger Stiles like it might have a few days ago. After all, they’re friends now. Believe it or not, but Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale were now legitimate friends; it would be near impossible to go through what they did and _not_ become closer because of it.

Then there was Lydia. Stiles wouldn’t want to go back to ‘before’ even if someone paid him a billion dollars – and, thinking about it now, he had a bank account somewhere with trillions in it; if he could only remember the password…and where its location was. There had barely been a moment during the two days (and two nights) when they weren’t holding hands or cuddling on the couch or staring at each other.

Unfortunately, Clary drew the line at showers (which Stiles hadn’t even been thinking about, but once it was mentioned, that was _all_ he could think about) saying, to both Lydia and Stiles’ embarrassment, that she didn’t want them to hurt themselves trying to do all those fancy positions. (Derek had snickered until Clary turned to him and said, her eyes gleamingly mischievously, “Now I’m sure if they really wanted to, you’d tell them how, wouldn’t you, Derek? I’m sure you’re not a stranger to all the wonders of what is known as sex.” That had shut Derek up quickly.)

Other than that semi-awkward conversation, the days went by quickly and were completely awesome.

Throughout the entire plane ride, Stiles kept thinking about what he was going to say to his father. Ian. His father. Okay, okay, so technicallyIan was _biologically_ Stiles’ father in a very scientific and genetic sense, but then when Stiles would include magic as a factor, because it was a huge factor, things got very complicated since Stiles’ wasn’t actuallyIan’s son, he was technically Ian’s granddad, but at the same time –

And whenever Stiles would arrive at this part, the part that would give him a massive headache and acute anxiety, he’d grab Lydia’s hand and think back to how he spent his last two days, with Lydia and Derek and Martin and Clary, and he’d feel better. (At first he tried to integrate himself into Lydia and Derek’s conversation, but Stiles’ brain had kept wondering that he couldn’t focus on anything, even if it were to slap him in the face.)

Then the process would start all over again.

For nearly ten hours.

There had been a two-to-three hour reprieve when Stiles forced himself to watch a movie, but he couldn’t make himself sit through another one no matter how hard he tried. It was a constant and restless cycle of worrying, remembering, and repeating.

It didn’t get any better when Stiles actually saw Ian, his father, waiting for them at the airport. In fact, he froze. His father, Ian, had yet to see them; he was talking to the officer that had flown with them on the plane. (Since the officer –Irene Bogson, Stiles remembered– hadn’t taken any luggage for the flight, she had immediately walked towards Sheriff Stilinski.)

There he was. The Sheriff. Stiles’ father. Also Stiles’ grandchild. The man who raised him. The man who made the deal with him. Father, grandchild, guardian, client. Which one was he really? Who was he? Who –

“Stiles? Are you–? Stiles!”

The next thing Stiles knew, he was clutching the railing in a handicapped bathroom. His lungs spasmed air out as if it were poison and his heart felt as if it was trying to beat out of his chest. The room was getting smaller and smaller and smaller and smaller…

“Breathe, Stiles. It’s okay, just breathe,” a voice said somewhere in the distance. It sounded female. Something rubbed his back soothingly. Up and down. Up and down.

Stiles was on his knees; the cold tile seeped through to his jeans.

Panic attack. Oh God, he was having a panic attack!

“Shit,” Stiles breathed out. “Not now…not now.”

He needed to get ahold of himself. It was nothing. He’s faced worse. Even when he thought he was a regular human he’s faced worse. So this should be a breeze. He could face his father. He meant, Ian. No, his father. No, Ian. No –

“Shit!” How could Stiles get ahold of himself if he doesn’t even know what to call the man outside?

“He’s not calming down,” a different voice said worryingly. It was male.

“I see that,” the female snapped. “Stiles, Stiles look at me.”

The hands from his back left and went to his face. Stiles stared at the brown-eyed, red-haired girl. He knew her. Lydia. He knew Lydia. But he couldn’t… He didn’t…

The room was almost completely closed in now. It was a miracle they hadn’t been killed yet. Walls closing in is not the way Stiles wanted to go out.

Stiles couldn’t breathe.

No, wait. He could. He could breathe. But…

“Better?”

Slowly, Stiles opened his eyes. (When had he closed them?) Lydia was in front of him. She was smiling.

“Did you–?” Clearing his throat, Stiles tried again, and said, sounding much less like a croaking frog this time, “Did you just kiss me?”

Lydia bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh. “It worked last time.”

A hand weighed down on his shoulder. Stiles knew it was Derek without having to look back. “You okay, Stiles?”

“Yeah, I…” he blushed, realizing that Derek and Lydia just witnessed the worst panic attack he’s had since he was eight-years-old and the doctor told him his mom had died. “I’m fine now. Thanks.”

“Good,” Derek nodded. His face revealed that he only felt _marginally_ uncomfortable at the situation. He gave Stiles a small, apologetic smile. “We should go back now.”

Stiles’ throat went dry. “I – yeah. I know.”

“Drink this,” Lydia told Stiles, handing him a bottle of chocolate milk. Where she had gotten it, Stiles had no idea, but he chugged it, drinking the entire bottle within seconds.

Leaving the bathroom, Stiles half-expected Ian/his father to be right outside of the bathroom, demanding…something. Something Stiles wasn’t ready to give over. Not yet anyway.

No one was outside the bathroom.

When the trio reached Sheriff Stilinski and Officer Bogson, they were still deep in conversation.

“Oh, there you are, Stiles,” the Sheriff said, smiling. It turned into a frown. “Is everything okay, son?”

Stiles opened his mouth, but he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. Not here, not now; not with all these people around them. Awkwardly, Stiles closed his mouth and dipped his head slightly, gesturing that _Yes, I’m alright_ even though no, he really wasn’t.

Officer Bogson gave Sheriff Stilinski a knowing look, as if to say, “I told you so.”

Sheriff Stilinski nodded firmly. “Well, come on you three. Beacon Hills is awaiting your arrival. Lydia, your parents are very worried about you; they’ll be relieved to know you’re alright.”

“Parents?” Lydia repeated with a frown.

The Sheriff grinned knowingly, “Yes, parents. Both of them haven’t left the station since you went missing.”

Lydia, still in shock, smiled a little.

“And you,” Sheriff Stilinski turned to Derek, “Braedon told me to tell you that she has an arsenal of weapons she’s going to use on you if you ever think to do this again.”

Derek laughed.

“Also,” the Sheriff hesitated slightly. “Derek, we also have an opening at the station. If you ever, you know, want a job.”

“…Really?” Derek asked in astonishment.

“Really.”

Stiles had never seen Derek grin so widely before.

“And as for you,” Sheriff Stilinski turned to Stiles. He enveloped him in a hug. “I’m glad you’re safe, son.”

“Thanks, uh, dad.” It sounded forced and emotionless; Stiles cursed himself.

Ian pulled back, his brow furrowing. He opened his mouth, probably to ask if Stiles was okay again.

“Let’s go to the car,” Stiles suggested quickly, pickpocketing the key from the Sheriff’s jacket. “Long ride, you know?”

Moments after he walked outside, Stiles spotted the car. He climbed into the front seat, waiting, somewhat impatiently, for the others to do the same.

For the first hour, everything was full of awkward small talk and radio songs while Ian/his dad kept glancing at Stiles questioning. He finally lost it after they had been driving for one hour, five minutes, and three, four, five, six seconds. (Stiles counted.)

“Alright, that’s it!” Sheriff Stilinski slapped the wheel. “What is going on? What _really_ happened during that kidnapping? And just ‘cause I can’t look at you, does _not_ mean I can’t tell when you’re lying.”

All went quiet. It lasted four minutes and eleven seconds. (Stiles had counted again.)

“Well, sir, it was my fault,” Derek started quietly.

Then the whole story came out. Piece by piece. Very slowly.

Lydia and Derek retold the story, leaving out the bits and pieces that were about Stiles’ vampirism.

It took them about an hour, and there was still another hour to go before they would arrive in Beacon Hills.

Sheriff Stilinski tuned to his son, “Anything you want to add, Stiles? You’ve been silent this whole time.” His tone said, _‘And if you even_ think _about saying no, I will kick your ass out of this car are you will_ walk _home.’_

_No, not really_ , Stiles thought. Aloud he said, “Yeah there’s,” he cleared his throat. “There’s one more thing you should know.”

“And that would be?”

Stiles took a deep breath. Released it. Took another. After a minute, he finally said, “Do you remember, years ago, the deal you made with that vampire?”

The car swerved off the road.

x~X~x

Derek was having the strangest sense of déjà vu. He knew he should have no idea what Stiles and the Sheriff were talking about, but at the same time, he did know. It was weird. Maybe it had to do with being in Stiles’ head for an hour. 

“So… So you remember? Everything, you remember everything?”

“Yeah.”

They’d been going about this for around an hour, and that’s _after_ Stiles retold the story. (The complete story, including all the vampire bits.) When a police officer stopped by, inquiring if there was anything wrong and then advising them to, “Move along, please,” when they said everything was fine, the conversation continued on the road. For another hour.

Finally, Sheriff Stilinski said, “Wow,” and went silent.

Derek had zoned out after getting back on the road since the conversations were only going in circles, so he looked toward Lydia, silently asking her if he missed anything important. From the way her eyes turned to him, Derek knew she had zoned out too.

The silence lasted for all of ten minutes because they finally arrived at the Stilinski household. The cars in front of the house told Derek that the entire pack, and then some, was inside waiting for them. Despite this knowledge, no one got out of the car.

“I have to tell them,” Stiles said. He glanced at his companions, daring (hoping) for them to say, _‘No, not yet; you can wait.’_

However much Derek wanted to say it, he knew that Stiles couldn’t wait. The moment he would walk into his house, Scott, Malia, and Liam would immediately smell a change in him.

“Don’t worry,” Lydia leaned forward, resting her hand on Stiles’ slightly-shaking one. “We’ll be there for you.”

Derek added his hand, placing it on Stiles’ shoulder. “Yeah, we’ve got your back.”

Stiles’ lips twitched into a smile. “Thanks guys. If… If it all goes wrong in there–”

“Don’t say that,” Lydia interrupted firmly.

“–then I want you to know,” Stiles continued, looking sadly into Lydia’s eyes. “That I am so grateful to you both. And–”

Stiles was interrupted for the second time, But not by Lydia.

“No. You’re my son.”

Everyone looked up at the Sheriff in shock, Stiles especially. No one had thought he’d speak up.

“You’re still my son,” Sheriff Stilinski said, looking Stiles straight in the eye. “Magic or vampires or even werewolves be damned. I raised you, Stiles, and I love you. I don’t care how you came to be mine, but you are. You’re my son and I will protect you against a thousand vampires. I’ll protect you from whoever’s in there too. Blood protects blood, remember? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

Stiles made a soft choking noise. He bit his lip in an effort to stop the tears from spilling. “Dad…”

“It’s okay, son.” The Sheriff, too, had tears in his eyes. “Let’s go in now; we’ll face them together.”

x~X~x

Walking into his own house had never been so terrifying. Holding his father’s hand, however childish, eased Stiles into a temporary state of calmness.

“Hey guys,” Stiles said cautiously. Everyone was there. Scott, Kira, Malia, Liam, Deaton, Braedon… _Everyone_ was here. “We’re back.”

“Derek!” Braedon cried. She ran to him, flinging herself into his surprised arms. “Oh, thank God you’re alright.” She kissed him chastely. Then she pulled away and promptly slapped him. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ do that again!”

“S-Sorry,” Derek stammered out before Braedon’s lips captured his again.

Watching them, Stiles couldn’t help but smile. He glanced at Lydia and caught her eye; she smiled too. It was a good moment…until Malia ruined it.

“Stiles, why the hell do you smell like _trees_?” she questioned.

Lydia took a step forward, “Guys, it’s okay. Let us explain–”

“Explain?” Liam interrupted. He was wrinkling his nose. “Explain what? The fact that Stiles smells exactly like that _vampire_ did? The one who helped Amelia escape?”

Stiles huffed. “Give me some credit, man. I smell _much_ better than Caedmon.”

“So you’re not denying that you smell like a vampire?” Liam prompted. His claws unsheathed. Perhaps it was unconsciously, but perhaps not.

Scott raised an arm toward the two other werewolves, silencing any other comments before they could be made. “Stiles,” he said. Besides an undertone of confusion, there was no emotion in his voice. “What is going on?”

“Um,” Stiles fiddled with his fingers nervously, trying to decide how to begin.

When he didn’t answer in time, Scott warned, “Stiles, man, you need explain yourself right now. Because you smell like a _vampire_. And the last time we had an encounter with vampires, they were killing people in the streets. Man, you _need_ to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

“Okay, okay.” Licking his lips, Stiles said, “…You all should sit down.”

“Oh, it’s that serious?” Deaton asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is everything okay, Stiles?” Kira wondered gently.

Stiles looked helplessly at Kira. “Well, I hope so,” he answered. Stiles glanced at the other faces before him. Liam and Malia looked at him with disgust, their pores reeking with hate and confusion; Deaton had his impassive, yet determined face on, which was never good; Kira looked at him sadly, but Stiles knew she’d follow Scott to the ends of the earth, much like he’d do with Lydia; and Scott…Scott was trying to keep his face blank and emotionless, but Stiles could smell the desperation and worry. It made his heart twinge.

“Before, um, before I start, maybe… Dad? Maybe you should tell them…” Stiles waved his hands vaguely, but Sheriff Stilinski nodded, knowing exactly what it was Stiles wanted him to say.

“Well, kids, this whole thing–”

“Wait,” Malia interrupted again. “Why are _you_ telling us what’s going on? What do you have to do with the fact Stiles smells like a _vampire_?”

“It started with me,” the Sheriff explained patiently. Then he glanced at Stiles. “Well, sort of. The point is, when I was sixteen, my family was murdered. By vampires. Actually, by Caedmon. My dad, he taught my sister and me our supposed family history. The Stilinskis were, apparently vampire hunters. Of course, Cameron and I didn’t believe them.”

“Mr. Stilinski,” Scott started, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family, I am, but I don’t how this connects to Stiles’ sudden vampire smell.”

“This connects,” the Sheriff took a deep breath. “This connects because Claudia and I couldn’t heave children. Ever. We were both barren, which is a rarity, but, as the doctors told us, it can occur.”

All eyes slid to Stiles.

Kira was brave enough to ask, “But…then…how did…”

“An ancestor of mine came to visit me one night,” Sheriff Stilinski explained. “You see, not only was my family vampire hunters, but we had a vampire in our family. He was rumored to be the very first vampire and he appeared to me and Claudia. He wanted to help us. Because _‘I protect what is mine,’_ he said. So he worked some sort of magic, and, well, Claudia became pregnant.”

Everyone’s eyes were still on Stiles. He squirmed in his seat. Lydia took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently; she didn’t let go, despite knowing everyone’s eyes were on her too now.

Deaton was the one to break the silence. “The first vampire? I heard he was called The Demon.”

“He is,” Stiles said.

“And you would know this how?” Malia asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Enough,” Scott interrupted. He looked Stiles in the eye. “Okay, your turn.”

Stiles nodded and opened his mouth. The story unfurled once again.

x~X~x

“So… We good?” Stiles ended. Except for a few clarifications from Derek and Lydia, Stiles had talked for over an hour, and his voice was dry from it. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.

No one spoke, they all just stared at Stiles. Despite being the most powerful supernatural creature in the room, Stiles knew he wouldn’t do anything to stop Scott (or Liam or Malia or Kira or even Braedon) from ripping him to shreds. That realization scared him.

Slowly, Scott rose from his chair.

Immediately, Derek, Lydia, and the Sheriff jumped from their seats, standing up too. Scott looked at them surprised.

“Just so you know,” Lydia warned, “We’re with Stiles. Whatever you do to him, you do to us.”

Stiles paled. “Wait, no–”

Derek spoke before Stiles could finish. “We were there with him the entire time; he’s good, we swear. He’s still Stiles.”

“Guys, you shouldn’t–”

“He’s my son,” Sheriff Stilinski said. “And you’ll have to go through us to get to him.”

Stiles had enough. He pushed through the three-person barrier. “No, stop!” He turned to face them; showing his back to a potential enemy (even if it was Scott) wasn’t a wise move, Stiles knew, but he had faith in his friend, and he had to show Scott how much he still trusted him.

“Guys, I appreciate what you’re doing, but this is _my_ fate alone. I won’t watch you get harmed in any way because of me. I _can’t_ watch that.” Swallowing, Stiles turned to face Scott once again. “So… We good?”

For one tense, terrifying minute, Scott said nothing. Then he laughed. His face broke into a grin and he pulled a startled Stiles into a hug. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re good.”

Stiles released a breathe he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and raised his arms to hug Scott back.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Scott whispered in Stiles’ ear.

Another pair of arms joined Scott and Stiles’. Then another. Then another. Soon, everyone was hugging. It was one of the happiest group hugs Stiles had ever been in. People were laughing and cheering and Stiles could smell the relief and excitement emitting from everyone.

When everyone broke apart, talking animatedly about the ordeal, Scott stayed by Stiles’ side.

“You had quite the adventure, didn’t you?”

Stiles laughed. “Oh, you had no idea. Oh!” With widening eyes, Stiles called out, “Everybody! Everybody! I forgot to mention,” he glanced at Derek grinning. “I know how to get Derek’s wolf powers back!”

The room was silent for barely a whole second before cheering broke out again. Everyone began asking how it was possible and what to do and when to start.

Amidst the roaring crowd, Scott asked, “Onto the next adventure already?”

Stiles laughed, “Why not?”


	2. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wants to ask Lydia a very important question that will change their lives forever. He can wait until after sex though.

_…one year later…_

“I can’t believe senior year is over,” Lydia sighed, bringing her stiletto clad feet up onto the footrest and crossing her ankles.

Sitting beside his girlfriend, Stiles stared unabashedly at her long, silky legs. Her dress was short, resting just above her mid-thigh. “I can’t believe we even managed to graduate, what with all that running around we did,” he said.

Lydia laughed. “Yeah, it was a crazy year. Getting Derek’s powers back, stopping the sea witch, chasing down those baby dragons, fighting the Japanese Yagyō-san…”

“Don’t you mean the Japanese Headless Horseman,” Stiles interrupted with a sly grin.

Lydia smacked his arm, causing Stiles to laugh.

“Well, it’s true,” he said, raising his hands up in mock surrender.

Lydia huffed and rolled her eyes, but didn’t protest when Stiles wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder.

“Dinner was nice,” he whispered.

Dinner had been nice. After the graduation ceremony, Stiles, his dad, Lydia, and her parents went out for supper at the fanciest restaurant in town for celebration. Everyone had gotten along splendidly. Afterward, the Sheriff went home, Lydia’s parents went to the motel where Lydia’s father was staying, and Stiles dropped Lydia at her house, opting to keep her company while her parents were away. (This was said with a wink.)

“And we’re alone.” Stiles nipped at Lydia’s neck.

“Mhmm,” Lydia hummed.

Stiles continued kissing down Lydia’s neck. “And you’re parents won’t be back until morning.” Stiles loved the dress Lydia was in, he really did; she looked absolutely gorgeous in it…but he’d rather it be off her instead. At least it was strapless.

“Or later,” Lydia reminded him, tilting her head so more of her neck would be exposed.   

 “Yeah, or later,” Stiles repeated. He breathed Lydia’s scent in deeply. She’d put perfume on for earlier that day, but it was late enough that Stiles could ignore the flowers and just smell  _Lydia_ . Her sweat, her blood, her laughter. “We have the whole night. Just to ourselves.”

“Yes,” Lydia agreed. She rolled them slightly so now Stiles was beneath her; he gripped her hips as she straddled him. “We’re all alone. What are you going to do about it?”

Stiles looked up at her, grinning. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Well,” Lydia leaned in close, her fingers wrapping around Stiles’ red tie. She pulled, and their lips crashed together hungrily. “You can start with this.” Taking one of Stiles’ hands, Lydia guided it to the back of her dress, where the zipper was; Stiles gladly unzipped, wishing there was one more zipper undone.

When Stiles’ lips were met with nothing but air, he opened his eyes in confusion. Lydia had removed herself from him, to his displeasure, but the sight before him made everything better – Lydia was standing up, a few feet away, with her back turned. Stiles watched as the unzipped dress slid down her body, crumpling to the floor. Her lacy, black thong matched her stilettos. Glancing behind her seductively, her hazel eyes locking with Stiles’ golden brown ones, Lydia gracefully stepped out of the dress. She turned her head forward again and walked to the stairs, her hips swaying with each step.

“Aren’t you coming?” Lydia asked once she reached the stairs.

“Oh – uh – yeah!” Stiles scrambled to his feet.

In all his years of living, he’s only met the love of his life twice – in Russia during the thirteenth century and now. With Yaroslava, Stiles had known who he was, a vampire, and he hadn’t hid in the human world, like he had when he met Lydia. But Stiles was no longer the vampire who had loved Yaroslava – that part of him melted into the Stiles of today. The Stiles who loved Lydia Martin and was going to ask her the biggest, most important question Stiles could ever propose.

“No clothes are allowed in my room!” Lydia called back. She glanced over her shoulder and licked her lipstick-red lips, which stopped Stiles completely in his tracks. “Except that tie. Keep it on.”

Then Lydia continued up the stairs.

Stiles raced after her, stripping his vest and shirt and pants faster than he’s ever done in his entire (born again vampire) life. He reached the threshold of Lydia’s room just as Lydia took off her thong. She turned around so they were facing each other, barley an inch separating their naked bodies.

It’s not as if they hadn’t done this before. There’ve been make out sessions, blowjobs, and instances where Stiles had gotten on his knees for her (which he loved doing, if truth be told). Twice, they almost got caught at school because Lydia has this tiny (huge) kink of being fucked on a teacher’s desk, but, thankfully, Lydia had smoothed out her skirt and Stiles had pulled up his pants in time for both circumstances.

Yet…somehow…this is entirely different.

They stood there, breathing hard, not moving a muscles. Then, slowly, Stiles raised his arm. The palm of his hand cupped Lydia’s check, bringing her forward for another kiss. It was blissful…

…until their naked bodies became flush.

The kiss turned from soft to fierce. Lydia’s hands twisted in Stiles’ hair, and in turn, Stiles pressed Lydia’s lower back forward into him. Their hands started searching the other’s body; palming and rubbing and kneading at the soft tender flesh. When Lydia jumped, wrapping her legs around his waist, Stiles caught her with ease, each hand pressing against her cheeks, keeping her upright.

Stiles stumbled to the bed. Their lips were still attached, but both resisted separating, even if it would’ve been safer. At least their fall was cushioned.

“Whoa!” Lydia exclaimed breathlessly when Stiles landed atop her, his strong arms at either side of her head, keeping him from pressing his full weight against her.

“Sorry,” Stiles said just as breathlessly. He leaned down to kiss her again, his hips undulating against hers. Stiles’ cock rubbed against the clit between Lydia’s legs, making her tremble beneath him while Stiles moaned desperately into her mouth.

“God, yes,” was Lydia’s response. “ _More_ .”

Shifting his weight so it was all on his left arm, Stiles ran his hand down Lydia’s thigh, both to touch her bare skin and to make sure her legs was securely wrapped around him. He took the same hand and brought it to her breast, cupping it and swiping her nipple with the pad of his thumb. The motion was not calm and tender, but rough, and Lydia moaned; she grabbed at his ass, pushing and pulling at it to force Stiles’ hips faster.

Up and down, up and down. Stiles’ cock teased at her entrance, rubbing her clit until she was squirming from all the sensations. She was close. Oh God, she was so close.  

“Oh, God, Lydia,” Stiles moaned. “I think… I’m gonna…”

Lydia reached down between them and gripped the base of Stiles’ cock. “Don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t you dare.” Then Lydia was coming. She threw her head back and arched off the bed. Her ankles flexed and her fingers grabbed whatever-it-was they were holding tighter. For her left hand, it was sheets; for her right hand, it was Stiles’ cock.

When Lydia opened her eyes, still trembling from the sensations, the first thing she saw was Stiles. His irises were completely black and blown wide, his mouth hung open and his hips jerked sporadically.

“Lydia,” he begged. “ _Please_ .” His cock was pulsing under her hand; precum dripped from it, but what was driving her insane was the fact that it was  _still rubbing her clit_ . 

“C-Condom,” Lydia said.

Stiles groaned. “Right  _now_ ?” he asked, voice strained.

It was a split second decision.

“No.” Lydia pushed Stiles off her – he landed on his back with her hand still firmly clenching his cock. “Let’s do it this way.”

Slowly, she climbed onto him, grateful for her king bed. She’d never done the sixty-nine before, so why not now?

Lydia released her tight grip on Stiles’ cock and clamped around the head with her mouth.

“ _Oh_ ,” Stiles groaned. “Oh sh-shit.” Then he took his hands and brought her hips down, latching onto her like a desperate man.

They would almost in unison. Lydia licked from base to head while Stiles put the pad of his tongue on her clit and lapped up the moisture. Knowing Stiles was close, Lydia moved back to the head, kissing it and flicking her tongue at the tip.

“ _Fuck_ !” Stiles breathed. His legs fell open and his cock twitched while Lydia looked with pride. She didn’t care that Stiles was too far gone to finish eating her out; s _he_ had done this to him.  _Lydia_ was the reason Stiles was babbling, “God, please, Lydia, please, shit!” along with other incoherent noises.

Lydia smirked and wrapped her mouth around the tip once again. She hollowed her cheeks, circling her tongue a few times before  _sucking_ . Stiles came with a shout.

Breathing heavily, Stiles croaked out, “Did… Did you…?”

“I swallowed everything,” Lydia said smugly, flopping her body beside Stiles gracefully.

“Oh my God,” he replied breathlessly, closing his eyes.

Stiles couldn’t think; his head was filled with images of Lydia and his body was still sensitive from his orgasm.  _Now’s a good time_ , he thought.  _I should ask her now._ Except his brain was too fried to tell his mouth to say the words. That was okay for now though; Stiles was content to have Lydia by his side.

Propping her head up, Lydia traced unknown designs on Stiles’ sweat-slick abdomen, loving the contrast of his red tie against his pale skin. Stiles wasn’t as muscular as Aiden or Jackson or Mack and none of Lydia’s other boyfriends (or one-night stands) and quite so many moles, but that was fine. Hopefully, Lydia wouldn’t have any other boyfriends ever again.

_Dammit_ ! Lydia cursed herself. She promised herself she wouldn’t think of the impending future. It had been strangely easy to delude herself at dinner, despite talking about college plans. But now, here in bed with the only man she loved deeply (because she had loved Jackson, but, compared to this, that love had been shallow and petty), Lydia could only think about the future. As Lydia aged, Stiles wouldn’t. They would have to separate at some point in their lives and –  _No_ , Lydia thought firmly. She needed a distraction.

Kissing Stiles was always the perfect discretion.

“Mhmm,” Stiles hummed happily.

“Ready to go again?” Lydia asked slyly, her hand creeping down to the flaccid cock. It twitched in her hand.

Stiles’ breathe hitched. “L-Later,” he promised. “Definitely later.”

Lydia giggled and brought her lips down for another kiss. After a few minutes, Stiles put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

“I…I want to ask you something,” Stiles said nervously, sitting up.

“What is it?” Lydia moved to sit up as well.

For a moment, Stiles was silent. “You know I’ve loved you since second grade, right?”

“Yes,” Lydia answered slowly.

“And you know I’m…I’m  _in_ love with you too, right? That I’ll never want anyone else for as long as I live? That it’ll always be you?”

Lydia’s heart clenched. “Yes, Stiles. I do know that,” she said quietly. Taking a deep, shaking breath, she continued, “But I also know that ‘as long as I live’ for you is much longer than for me.”

“That’s what I want to ask you about,” Stiles said quickly. He cupped her cheek, gently forcing her head up so they could look each other in the eyes. He swallowed. “Lydia… Lydia it will  _only_ be you for me. I can make our ‘as long as I live’ the same length.”

“How–?” Lydia started in confusion, but understanding filled her before she could even finish the thought. “ _Oh_ ,” she breathed, her eyes widening. “You want… You want me to…”

“Only if  _you_ want it,” Stiles hastily elucidated. “…Do you?”

“I…” Lydia searched his eyes, unsure if this was truly happening. “I do.”

Stiles release a breath, smiling wide. He leaned forward, about to catch Lydia’s lips, but, instead, he kissed Lydia’s raised hand.

“But it has to be after college,” she said. “I refuse to be stuck in an eighteen-year-old body for eternity.”

Stiles nodded. “After college sounds per–”

He broke off as Lydia’s lips attacked his. She rolled them over, once again straddling his hips. A condom was in her hand.

“Let’s celebrate,” she said, smirking in one of the most seductive ways possible.

It went straight to Stiles’ cock, which twitched anxiously. “I’m all for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a simple fic, dammit! A simple, short one-shot. What the hell happened!?
> 
> Oh Well. *sigh.* Hope you all enjoyed!


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